


The Way Home

by Princess_Aleera



Series: The Mute!Cas Verse [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Dean lives by a river in Egypt until he doesn't anymore, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fallen Castiel, Hallucifer, Hugs, M/M, Mute Castiel, Nightmares, Sign Language, Singing, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-07
Updated: 2013-04-06
Packaged: 2017-12-07 17:31:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 33,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/751146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princess_Aleera/pseuds/Princess_Aleera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Where the brothers show Cas USA, there is much a-fumbling, and the 'U' in UST gets wiped out.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wipe Out All The Sad Ideas (That Come To Me When I Am Holding You)

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter takes place the morning after the last chapter of The Turning Point. Suffice to say, you should probably read that one before reading this.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Where it's the morning after._

Sam’s been up for an hour, and he’s currently talking to Bobby on the phone. He glances over at Dean and Cas every now and then, smiling a little, and Dean gestures with his free hand to say hi to Bobby from him.

“Dean says hi,” Sam says and leans one elbow on the table. “He’s a bit pre-occupied.” Bobby must be saying something funny on the other end, because Sam laughs.

Cas startles, a twitch traveling through his whole body, and wakes up. Dean can feel fluttering eyelashes tickling his neck, and resists the urge to squirm. Cas leans back, movements clumsy and uncoordinated, and nearly falls out of the couch when he realizes his legs are tangled in Dean’s.

“Whoa! Hey there,” Dean says and grabs him by his hoodie, steadying him before letting go. “G’mornin’.”

Cas blinks and rubs his puffy eyes, before glancing around the room like he’s forgotten how he got here. Something dawns on him, and he eases off Dean slowly, watching him as if he’s some kind of scared animal, until he’s on the far end of the couch. The tips of his ears are pink, and his gaze is lowered. He looks more uncomfortable than Dean feels right now.

Dean stretches out, groaning as his spine pops and his lower back twinges in pain. His clothes feel almost sticky, clinging to his skin. He probably smells like sweat, too. “Okay, I’mma go take a shower. You… okay there, Cas?”

Cas nods and sends him a reassuring smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. He opens the laptop and finds the finger-alphabet, and doesn’t look at Dean. He looks a little stiff, but not overly so, and after a moment’s thought, Dean decides he’ll be better suited to tackle this issue after a change of clothes. So he mumbles something about seeing Cas later, before tumbling out of the couch and into the bathroom.

In the shower he braces a hand against the cold tile wall, closes his eyes against the warm spray of water, and tries not to think. Thinking too much about all this- _this_ , just makes his head hurt. Instead he lets the water beat down on his stiff muscles, which are slowly easing up with the warmth and the more comfortable position.

He emerges from the shower feeling almost human again. He pulls on the clean pair of boxers, jeans and plain, navy blue t-shirt he’s balanced in a pile on the sink, and then sits down on the toilet seat for a minute just to make sure he’s not freaking out. He doesn’t seem to be, which strikes him as odd, but he’s not about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

When he walks back into the living room, Sam’s gone. He’s probably outside, enjoying the sunny weather. Cas is still sitting on the couch, but now Dean can see him fiddling with the shoulder strap on his duffel bag, deep in thought.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean says, mostly to alert Cas to his presence. He dumps down on the couch, close to Cas but not crowding him, and looks over at the fallen angel. “What’re you thinkin’ about?”

Cas’s gaze flickers in Dean’s direction, before he shrugs. His shoulders are still tense, his posture still stiff. Dean just waits, and after a moment of Cas grabs his notepad and writes. _Do you still want me here?_

“Of course I do, Cas.” Dean leans his elbows on his knees and looks at him. “Me and Sam both do.”

Cas huffs, a frustrated sound, and writes _no, I mean here_. And he shifts closer, so that their knees and shoulders are just barely touching. Dean can feel his warmth immediately, his smell more pronounced.

Oh. “Um…” Dean fights the instinct to pull back, a knee-jerk reaction, and wills himself to relax. “I guess, yeah. If- if that’s what, y’know. I don’t mind a… I mean, if that’s what you need. A friend.” He can’t quite look at Cas when he says it, but he hopes the words come out right. Or that Cas hears them right. Even if Dean barely knows what the fuck he’s trying to say here.

Cas nods. It’s a lost little movement, more like he’s hanging his head than anything else.

“I don’t,” Dean starts and fumbles after the words. Then decides to fall back onto minimally safer topics. “If you really wanna leave, go to Sioux Falls and find a job- I’m not gonna stop you. You’re free to do what you want, go where you want. But I…” he rubs his neck awkwardly. “I really want you to stick around, man.” He lifts one of his hands, hesitates, and then pats Cas lightly on the back. “I’d- yeah.”

Cas doesn’t so much flinch as just startle at the contact, and he turns a little more towards Dean. He looks surprised, though Dean doesn’t understand why. Maybe he thinks Dean won’t initiate contact, or something, based on his previous freakouts. Or the dream. But for now, Cas looks healthy and smells good (if a little ripe), and there are no phantom screams in Dean’s ears, so he gives the guy a reassuring smile and squeezes before pulling his hand back.

This time when Cas smiles, it looks more real. It looks honest.

“So,” Dean says when the silence becomes awkward and Cas’s stare is beginning to make his skin itch. “Did you, uh… sleep well?” He regrets it as soon as it’s out, afraid it’ll make Cas look haunted again, or - God forbid - flinch, but instead Cas snorts and goes a little pink.

 _It was nice_ , he writes on the pad. _You’re very warm._

Dean chuckles. “Well, you’re… heavy.” It’s not really much of a truth, because he’s painfully aware that Cas isn’t nearly as heavy as he should be. But they seem to have something resembling an easy banter going on now, and Dean’s loath to let it go. Besides, it’s kinda fun to make Cas blush.

Cas gives him an apologetic smile, shrugs, and signs something with his left hand. Four letters.

“What’s that?” Dean wants to know, trying to recognize the vaguely familiar hand gestures. He doesn’t have the entire finger alphabet memorized yet.

 _Nice_ , Cas writes quickly, and his ears turn a darker shade of pink. _I meant it was nice._

“Yeah,” Dean says, and doesn’t tell Cas that there was no ‘i’ or ‘n’ in the four-letter word he signed. “Yeah, I guess it was. My back’s giving me hell, though.”

Cas’s smile turns into a frown, and he writes _sorry_ and _can I help?_.

“Nah, I’m fine. Shower cleared it up.” Dean shifts a little in his seat, and though his back aches a little, there are no sudden twinges of flaring pain.

That seems to alert Cas to something, and he looks down on himself. _Shower_ , he writes and scrunches his nose.

“Yeah, you probably should,” Dean grins, and Cas shoves him lightly - like he’s still not sure whether physical touching is allowed now or not - and rises. He shuffles into the bathroom and closes the door, and Dean can hear the shower turning on a minute later.

He grabs the laptop and looks over the different ASL letters, trying to remember the gestures Cas signed and find them on the page.

S… A… F… and an E.

_Safe. It felt safe._

Dean stares at the laptop screen, his stomach twisting uncomfortably.

~*~


	2. Wipe Out All The Sad Ideas (That Come To Me When I Am Holding You)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Where they take off._

Bobby comes back home later that evening. (It was a nest of vampires outside Norfolk, Dean learns, and almost doesn’t feel guilty for coming out there to help. Almost.) The day after, they take off.  
  
“We’ll come by when we’re in the area,” Dean says to Bobby. “We ain’t got no place we gotta be right now.”  
  
“Long as it ain’t here,” Bobby says and claps him on the back. “You boys gonna go huntin’?”  
  
“Nah,” Dean says and very pointedly doesn’t look at Cas. “We’ll just… road trip.”  
  
“See the biggest ball of twine in the US again?” Bobby says with a dry smile.  
  
Dean chuckles. “Something like that. I’ll see you around, Bobby.” He claps the old hunter on the back before climbing into the driver’s seat.  
  
“Bye, Bobby,” Sam says, and hugs him. Of course he does.  
  
Cas waves at Bobby from the side window, curled up in the backseat of Dean’s baby. As soon as Dean turns the key in the ignition and the Impala roars to life, Cas lies back down. He’s got his duffel bag underneath his head, using it as a pillow. They’ve brought along a couple of blankets from Bobby’s so Cas won’t get cold, filling up the spare room in the backseat. It almost looks like a nest, the way Cas has arranged the blankets around him; the ex-angel almost disappearing beneath all the wool and cotton. His hair’s messy and his eyes clear, and every now and then Dean meets his gaze in the rearview mirror.  
  
They drive for six hours without stopping, Dean reveling in the feeling of being one with his baby again. He hadn’t realized how crazy he was going until they left. Even Sam looks almost happy, staring calmly out of the window. He hasn’t glanced at the backseat with a shifty look for several hours. Cas is fast asleep amidst his mountain of blankets.  
  
When they finally stop for a break, it’s for food. Walking into the greasy-looking diner, Cas seems almost intimidated by all the smells of food around. He glances around the room, keeping close to Dean, and when they sit down in a booth and he picks up a menu, he just looks lost. After a little while, he puts it gingerly back down on the table.  
  
Sam and Dean exchange looks. “You, uh… need help with that, Cas?” Dean asks.  
  
 _Not hungry_ , Cas writes down on his napkin.  
  
“Tough, you’re eating.”  
  
Cas sends him a weak semblance of a bitch-face.  
  
“Look, if you wanna, I can choose something for you. If that’s easier.”  
  
After staring at the menu for another minute, Cas sighs and shrugs.  
  
A waitress walks up to them - an older lady, her washed-out, blonde curls tucked into a jaunty red hat - and smiles widely. The hat seems to be part of her uniform, though Dean’s having a little trouble not staring at it. “Can I take your orders?”  
  
“Yeah, uh, one cheeseburger with extra fries, and a stack of pancakes.”  
  
“Syrup and sugar on the side, dear?” she asks while scrabbling down her order.  
  
“Yeah, sure,” Dean says with a glance at Cas, who looks utterly uninterested in the current proceedings. He’s mostly staring at the greasy, white table.  
  
“And a Greek salad for me, thanks,” Sam adds.  
  
“Sure thing. Anything to drink?”  
  
“Two Cokes and a glass of water,” Dean says, and she saunters off with a nod and a grin. There’s a lipstick smudge on one of her teeth.  
  
They sit in semi-awkward silence until their food arrives, the waitress - whose name, the tag says, is Emily - placing the pancakes in front of Cas without asking who were supposed to eat what. She places the extra fries on the middle of the table. “Enjoy, guys.”  
  
“Thanks.” The cheeseburger’s great; greasy and meaty, just like he likes it, with cheese running down the sides. It’s been weeks since he’s had some real diner food, and Dean finds he’s missed that, too.  
  
Sam rolls his eyes at Dean’s lack of finesse, and starts shoveling in leaves and tomatoes. Cas stares at Dean with a vague expression of disgust on his face.  
  
“Aw, c’mon, Cas,” Dean says through a mouthful. “It ain’t bad.”  
  
“Dude, chew and _then_ talk,” Sam bitches. “You’re grossing me out.” He purposely doesn’t say that Dean’s grossing _Cas_ out, though Dean guesses that’s what he means. After all, Sam’s lived with Dean’s bad table manners for over twenty years. He should be pretty used to it by now.  
  
Dean swallows obediently before speaking again. “Try the pancakes, man. I’m sure they’re awesome.”  
  
Cas glances down at his stack and grabs his fork, before prodding the stack lightly.  
  
“If you think it’s poisoned, I can try a bite for you,” Dean half-jokes, but Cas huffs before stabbing a pancake and taking a bite.  
  
He chews slowly, like he’s cataloguing the taste and texture of it. That’s probably what he does, Dean figures: Cas has lived on mostly soup since he Fell, so this stuff is pretty new to him. Cas grabs his napkin and scribbles down one word. _Dry._  
  
“Try some maple syrup,” Dean encourages, shoving the bottle closer to the guy. “They’re a lot better with syrup.”  
  
“If you don’t like it, that’s okay,” Sam says, ever the peacemaker.  
  
“You can try the fries, too,” Dean says and nods at the plate in the middle of the table.  
  
Cas nods, taking all this into careful consideration, and pours some syrup on his pancake before taking another bite. He frowns, eyebrows drawing together as if he’s concentrating hard. Then his face splits into something Dean can only describe as relief, and he starts chewing with renewed vigor.  
  
Dean lets out a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding. “Good?” he asks.  
  
Cas nods eagerly and scribbles down another word - _Sweet!_ \- with a little exclamation point and everything.  
  
“Yeah!” Dean says and grins along with him. So what if it’s goofy? Cas is _eating._   
  
Cas ends up eating almost two of his four pancakes in the time it takes Dean to devour his cheeseburger. He puts down his fork and pushes the plate away, sighing.  
  
“Full?”  
  
A nod. Cas scrunches his nose a little and turns his napkin to scribble on the unused side. _Don’t feel so good._  
  
Sam frowns. “What’s wrong?”  
  
Cas shrugs and places a hand gingerly on his stomach. _Nauseous._  
  
“It’s probably all the sugar,” Sam reassures him. “You’ll be fine.”  
  
Cas grimaces and drinks some more water.  
  
They pay up and leave, after Dean eats the rest of Cas’s pancakes (which were really fucking good; he totally gets why Cas liked them) and Sam’s finished off the extra fries. By the time they’re back in the Impala, out on the highway, it’s darkening outside. Cas doesn’t mention anything more about the nausea, so Dean guesses it passed, and soon the ex-angel’s fast asleep again.  
  
“He hasn’t been eating much,” Sam says into the silence, startling Dean. Seems they’re both thinking of the same thing. “It was probably just his stomach struggling with too much food at once.”  
  
“Yeah, probably,” Dean agrees. That makes sense. “He liked ‘em, though.”  
  
Sam glances over at him, and his eyes take on a fond, sad edge. Dean keeps his gaze on the road ahead. “It’s not gonna be that easy, Dean.”  
  
Dean swallows. “I know, Sammy.” One breakthrough today doesn’t mean Cas will start eating food without being prodded, or enjoy it. But it’s still a breakthrough, and nothing’s gonna take that away from Dean.  
  
They take in at a lousy, little motel by the side of the road, their family room bigger than he and Sam usually get. There are three big beds and a kid bed in a corner, and the wallpaper’s sky blue with little pink unicorns on it.  
  
This right here? Is one of the things Dean doesn’t think he’ll ever miss if he stopped moving around the country like a nomad. He drops his duffel on the kid bed, Cas doing the same. Their ex-angel’s eyes are bleary with sleep, and he just wrenches off his clothes and crawls into his own bed. Ten minutes later, he’s asleep again. Dean wants to be worried, but he knows Cas has eaten more than enough for today, so he lets him be. Even resists the urge to go over there and pull up the sheets when Cas shifts and his t-shirt clad shoulders are suddenly bare.  
  
If he gets cold during the night, he’ll wake up on his own. It’s not Dean’s job to baby him.  
  
Except… it doesn’t feel like babying. It feels a little like when he stayed with Lisa for those months after Sam jumped into the Cage, before Cas had managed to get Sam’s soulless self out and Dean had been pulled back into hunting. Some nights, when Dean had come home from the auto shop later than planned, he’d find Lisa curled up on the couch waiting for him. Every time that happened, he’d cover her lithe form with one of the woolen blankets they kept in the hallway closet. And when she squirmed, subconsciously reacting to the sudden warmth, he’d made sure to tuck her in so the blanket wouldn’t slide off her in her sleep.  
  
Dean has the same feeling with Cas now, only stronger. The urge to tuck him in and feel his cheek, touch his forehead to make sure he isn’t cold. Or worse, to slip in beside Cas and share his own body warmth, feel Cas relax against him and maybe even burrow closer, recognizing Dean’s presence as a safe one, not one that would hurt him. Could hurt him.  
  
“Dean?” Sam’s voice is quiet, but loud in the room, and Dean realizes he’s been staring at Cas’s sleeping form for almost a full minute. He quickly goes to his bed, between Sam’s and Cas’s, and undresses before slipping in.  
  
“Night, Sam.” He flicks the switch, the only source of light in the room the little lamp by Sam’s bedside. His brother’s got a beat-up, old copy of Crime and Punishment by some Russian-sounding dude in his hand.  
  
“Night, Dean.” Sam gives him a smile before turning the page, the quiet rustling a familiar sound.  
  
Dean turns to his side, his back against his brother and his gaze once again on their ex-angel. Cas’s mouth is open, his breathing slow, and his eyelids flicker slightly. Dean wonders what he’s dreaming about. Heaven, Hell, Earth, or something completely different?  
  
He falls asleep in a matter of minutes, his ears trained on the soft sound of Castiel’s breathing. When he startles awake, it’s because that same noise has changed.  
  
“Cas?” he murmurs, but Cas is still sleeping. Their room is bathed in darkness, only a stripe of fluorescent light streaming in through the narrow crack between their closed curtains. Dean lets his eyes adjust, and sees Cas in the bed a few feet away from him. Cas is thrashing silently, only sharp punches of breath escaping him.  
  
Another nightmare. “Cas. Cas, wake up.”  
  
A small shift behind his back lets Dean know that Sam’s awake, but his brother doesn’t move or say anything.  
  
With a gasp, Cas sits upright. Even in the dark, Dean can see how wide his eyes are. His breathing’s erratic, his body curled in on himself, and a choked sound presses out between Cas’s closed lips.  
  
“Hey, Cas,” Dean murmurs and sits up too, letting Cas know he’s awake.  
  
Cas looks at him and wheezes out a breath that might once have been a whimper, if Cas’s vocal chords hadn’t been ripped out of him along with his Grace. Once again he extends a trembling hand towards Dean, clenching it into a fist before he pulls it back, as if expecting another rejection.  
  
Dean pulls away the sheets and pads over to his friend’s bed, sitting down gently beside him. “Nightmare?” he whispers, keeping his hands to himself.  
  
Cas nods, eyes shiny and focused on Dean’s.  
  
“Was it about… that day?” Dean finds himself asking.  
  
Cas lets out a dry sob and curls in on himself further, drawing up his legs until his knees are against his chest.  
  
“Okay,” Dean murmurs, as much for his own benefit as Cas’s. “Okay.” Then he reaches out a hand to card it through Cas’s sweaty hair, before pulling him in.  
  
Cas tucks his head under Dean’s chin immediately, like this is where he belongs, and relaxes. Dean doesn’t do anything but hold him, but Cas is relaxed in his arms and his breathing calms down right away. He still shivers with the aftershocks of his dream, but his hand is clasping Dean’s wrist loosely instead of in a death-grip.  
  
Dean stays like this until his angel falls asleep again, slumping against him without a sound. He moves Cas until he’s once again under the covers, forehead smoothed out and those few tears dried up. Cas doesn’t even stir.  
  
Dean pulls the sheets over Cas’s shoulders, until only his head is visible, and then he tucks Cas in tightly so he won’t get cold. Pressing a short kiss against the sleeping man’s temple, Dean pulls away and sneaks back to his own bed.  
  
Sam’s long since fallen back asleep, but Dean stays awake for another hour. Just lying on his side, watching Cas, listening for a sign that another nightmare’s coming. Like Cas used to do for him a long time ago, when their positions had been reversed.  
  


~*~


	3. Time Tick-Tock Ticking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Where they drive._

They spend a week and a half just driving around, without a purpose in mind other than places Dean thinks Cas might like to see. They stop at random diners, Cas picking something different almost every time so he’ll get a range of human fast food cuisine under his belt, and Dean’s happy to notice that their ex-angel’s cheeks look less sunken. When he catches a glimpse of Cas’s hipbones one late evening, while they’re changing for bed, he also sees that they’re not as protruding and bony as they used to be.

His angel’s getting better, Dean thinks fondly sometimes. And every time he does that, he promptly scolds himself. Because Cas is not ‘his’. Cas is his own. And, besides… he and Dean are friends. Nothing more.

As much as Sam claimed everything would change, not much have changed. Which is a relief to Dean.

Cas has downloaded an ASL Dictionary to Sam’s laptop, and uses much of the time in the Impala – as much as the laptop battery will provide him – studying and learning movements. He masters the basic fingerspelling alphabet in only five days, though his actual spelling is very slow and sometimes incorrect. But he doesn’t need to look at the letters as he spells them anymore, and Dean’s made a mental promise to make more of an effort. They have to learn in sync with Cas, so they can understand what he’s actually trying to say. So in the evenings, when they’ve stopped for the night and Cas has gone to bed, Dean sits on the computer and studies as well. He can almost remember half the letters in the fingerspelling alphabet when they’re used in a word. Almost.

The only thing that doesn’t seem to get better is Cas’s nightmares. They come every single night, now; the ex-angel gasping awake, heart thumping too fast and breath too shallow. Cas cries every time, Dean comes for him every time. Dean thinks the nightmares are different, because Cas reacts differently when he wakes up. Often he’ll gasp and reach out for Dean, or just press the palms of his hands against his face and sob. But other times he’ll curl up in his bed and try to be quiet, and when Dean whispers if he’s okay, he’ll act like he’s still asleep. He’ll flinch when Dean comes over, and his shoulders will stay tense even if Dean rubs soothing circles on them. Those nights it takes a lot longer for Cas to fall back asleep.

Dean doesn’t ask him what he dreams about those nights. He also never rubs Cas’s back. He’d tried, one time, and Cas had shied away from him like he’d been burnt. Dean’s pretty sure he’s self-conscious of the scars covering his entire back; he never sees Cas without a shirt or t-shirt. Cas always sleeps in nightwear, and in the mornings he’ll have his back towards the corner so no one can see. He gets clothed in the bathroom after showers. The only glances Dean ever gets of the pink patches of skin are accidental, Cas’s t-shirt riding up when he’s sleeping or bending over to pick something out of his duffel bag.

Not that Dean usually stares at Cas while he’s bent over, of course.

Sam doesn’t say much, and he doesn’t ask Dean what their overall plan is, but as far as Dean can see, Sam actually seems happy not to be hunting. His brother seems well-adjusted, all things considered, and Dean’s only had to snap him out of his own head twice in the nine days they’ve been traveling. Sam will occasionally flinch at nothings and glance at empty corners with a haunted look, but it’s _nothing_ like what his episodes used to be. Sam’s starting to look like he did before Raphael broke his brain - like he did four months after the Wall shattered the first time. Everything’s gone much faster this time, though, and Dean assumes it’s because Sam’s done it all before.

His kid’s a strong one.

They’re in Wisconsin now, not far from Milwaukee. Dean’s not following a particular route, but he knows where he’s eventually going. He’s going home, to show Cas around. Lawrence, Kansas. Why that’s the first thing that popped into his head when he drove out of Bobby’s driveway ten days ago Dean doesn’t know, but it seems as good a place to go as any.

Cas is sitting in the backseat, hands flailing as he tries to keep up with the words the virtual Dictionary is signing at him. His brows are knitted together in a look of deep concentration, and Dean’s tempted to call out that he needs to be careful, or he’ll get wrinkles.

It strikes him like a bolt of lightning.

Cas is gonna get wrinkles. If he lives on – and by God, Dean will make sure he does – Cas will get old. He’ll get bad knees and a sore back and maybe arthritis, Parkinson’s, cancer, or even Alzheimer’s.

Cas is gonna get old. And someday, he’ll die. Just like Dean and Sam.

Dean grips the steering wheel so tightly it hurts, but his baby stays calm on the road. Her low rumbling soothes him, like she’s shushing him and telling him it’s gonna be okay.

They’re gonna be okay. Cas is gonna be okay.

Okay.

“Who wants lunch?” Dean says, a little too cheerily, and Sam mumbles an affirmative from the shotgun seat. Cas looks up from the laptop and grimaces.

“I’mma find us a Tex-Mex restaurant today, Cas. I think you’re gonna like Mexican food. And Sammy- no burritos.”

Cas blinks and tilts his head in a question, looking exactly like his angel self for a moment, even without the trenchcoat. Cas hasn’t worn it since he Fell; understandably, as there are still blood stains on it, and it’s ripped and ruined. There’s a huge stain on its back, one Dean couldn’t get rid of even after washing it for an hour. He still has it in the trunk, though he doesn’t know why. Sentimental value, perhaps. Or as a warning of how close this came to _not_ be.

“Jerk,” Sam says easily, and Cas signs something from the backseat.

“Did you-” Dean turns his head so he can see Cas directly. “Did you just sign _bitch_ at me, Cas?”

Cas gives him a grin that’s just a little too shy to be shit-eating, and Dean howls with laughter.

Yeah. Yeah, they’re okay.

~*~


	4. How it Started, How it Ends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Where Sam finds fresh vegetables and makes fun of Dean._

They’re in Lawrence. It feels weird to be back, Dean thinks, even if they haven’t actually been to Dean and Sam’s old house yet. They’re not going to either. Too many bad memories. But apart from that, it’s… nice to be back. Even if the town itself isn’t ‘home’ to Dean, it’s still a cozy town. Familiar in a weird way. Quiet, but not dead – perfect for Cas, so it doesn’t overwhelm him. They’ve mostly kept to backwater towns up until now, because Cas gets very self-conscious out in public, for some reason. Dean hasn’t asked him why.

It’s Tuesday when they drive in, eleven days since they left Bobby’s, and a lot of the bustling seems to be concentrated around the Vermont area of the town. “What’s going on?” Dean asks, mostly so Cas doesn’t need to sign it. He can, now, but it’s slow and his fingers get tired after a while.

“Farmer’s Market,” Sam says and points at a nearby banner. “Oh, this is perfect! We can buy lots of fruits and vegetables for you to try out, Cas!”

“Oh, fucking great,” Dean grumbles, but Cas lights up at Sam’s visible enthusiasm.

 _F-R-U-I-L-S,_ Cas signs with a questioning smile.

“Yeah!” Sam says, either ignoring or just not understanding the error, and drags them both along. Soon they’re walking down rows of wooden crates filled with fresh fruits, Sam stopping at every single one to explain to Cas what it is and where it comes from. Judging by Cas’s small smile, Dean guesses that Cas already knows this. Clearly his angel knowledge includes fruits and vegetables. But Cas doesn’t say anything to stop Sam’s rambling, just follows behind him eagerly and peers at the food, obviously enthused by Sam’s excitement.

Sam spends their entire day’s allowance on vegetables, Cas trailing by him like a little puppy. Dean strolls behind them, hands in his pockets, content with just watching. Cas is trying to sign the names of all the stuff they buy- bell pepper, celery, spinach, avocado, sweet corn, broccoli, chickpeas, garlic, carrot, mushroom, pumpkin, ginger, cucumber, lentils, eggplant. By the time their wallet is empty and Dean’s hands are full of bags (seriously, how did _he_ end up carrying all this stuff?) Cas is exhausted and happy even if his fingers hurt, Dean’s smiling just from the exposure of giddy joy, and Sam’s practically tripping at the thought of making a healthy meal from scratch.

Cas falls asleep in the ten-minute drive from the Market to their motel, and when they get in, Sam starts filling the tiny counter in their even tinier kitchen with everything they’ve bought.

Cas gestures at himself, then to the food, and tilts his head. He’s got bags under his eyes, and Dean knows he still needs to sleep a lot more than he and Sam. He looks exhausted.

“Nah, you go take a nap,” Dean says and squeezes Cas’s shoulder lightly. “I’ll help Sasquatch with his health crap.”

“It wouldn’t kill you not to eat meat with every single meal, y’know,” Sam says, washing the mushrooms in the sink.

“I don’t eat meat for breakfast,” Dean replies as he starts chopping tomatoes. He’s gotta admit- but only to himself- that this looks pretty delicious. Sam’s a decent cook. “Well, not always.”

Sam snorts, and they work in silence as Cas sleeps on top the bed, still wearing all his clothes. He’s not covered by anything, and Dean thinks he looks a little cold.

“Dean.”

“Yeah?” He turns to see if Sam needs help with anything, but his brother’s just arching his eyebrow at him. “What?”

“Just go put a goddamn blanket over him, jesus,” Sam says and rolls his eyes.

“I wasn’t-“

“Yeah, you were.” Sam goes back to chopping aubergine and steadfastly ignores him.

Dean contemplates glaring at his brother, but instead he slinks (walks! He walks) over to his bed and pulls off the sheet there. He drapes it over Cas, smiling a little as Cas shifts and sighs, face pressed into the mattress. He looks… peaceful, Dean thinks. No nightmares plaguing him, not right now. He doesn’t seem bothered by the noise Sam makes while he’s cooking- on the contrary, it seems to soothe him. Maybe Cas just likes to know there’s someone around; that he’s not on his own.

“Dean, quit staring at your boyfriend and come help me.”

Dean flinches and gives Sam the finger. Doesn’t say anything, in case he’ll wake Cas. When he gets back to the kitchen, he smacks Sam upside his big, lumpy head, and his brother yelps in discomfort before chuckling. “Bitch,” Dean mutters.

“Aww,” Sam coos. “You’re adorable.”

Dean vows silently to put Nair in Sam’s shampoo again. Stupid fucking brother.

Sam snickers, like he can read Dean’s mind, and starts to wok their food. He leaves a few pieces of each vegetable sort on a plate, raw, so that Cas can taste them. Dean leans against the counter as he watches his brother cook, and tries not to think about how he’d normally be starting on his third beer by now. God, beer.

“Dean?” Sam asks after a little while, stirring lightly at the stuff he’s making so it won’t burn.

“Yeah?”

“Do you have a… plan, with all this?” Sam doesn’t sound worried, or frustrated. Just curious.

So Dean allows himself to be a little more honest than strictly necessary. “Not really. I just thought we’d, y’know. Drive around until the money ended, and then...”

“Settle down?” Sam finishes, and turns around to frown at him. “You really gonna do that, Dean? No more hunting, no more family business? Just you, me and Cas working normal jobs, trying to be normal like you tried with Lisa?”

A flare of protective anger splits through Dean, but he holds it back. “No, that’s not what I’m gonna do. We’re not normal, Sam. We don’t need to pretend to be normal. But… I mean, the world’s not ending. At least not at the moment. Cas can’t hunt, and even if he could, no fucking way am I gonna drag him deeper into that mess. And…” Dean plucks at a place in the wall where the wallpaper’s slowly crumbling. “Isn’t it… time we stopped?”

Sam stares at him, wide-eyed. “Stopped? Are you serious, Dean? You actually want to quit, for real?”

Dean sighs. “I’m tired, Sammy. I’m so fucking tired of this. And if there’s another life out there I can live, then… Then maybe I wanna try that on for size. It’s not gonna be like with Lisa.”

“Why not?” Sam asks quietly.

Dean looks over at their ex-angel’s sleeping form. “Because… because this time, I’d be doing it ‘cause I want to. And not because someone told me to as their last request.”

Sam flinches a little, but doesn’t say anything. Dean doesn’t blame Sam, not really. His brother wanted him to be happy and not kill himself, and figured Lisa and Ben were the way to go.

They weren’t. But… maybe this is.

“Fair enough,” Sam says, lost in thought, and then gives Dean a smile. “Now go wake your BFF; dinner’s ready.”

~*~


	5. Sleep is Not My Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Where Sam’s been thinking, and Lucifer outs Dean._

They’ve traveled through Colorado for the last couple of days, and visited the Golden Gate Canyon because Sam demanded they see ‘real nature’, since they were on a real roadtrip. Dean hadn’t bothered to argue. He’d driven his baby up into the steep, grassy hills until the road had become too rough for her, before parking near a small pine forest.

They had walked around for the entire day, Cas touching everything he deemed not poisonous or dangerous. He’d even tried to climb a tree at one point, though he’d failed miserably and fallen on his ass on the dry, earthy ground. He’d winced as he got back up - on his own, because both Sam and Dean had been busy being doubled over with laughter. Dean had made it better by offering Cas his sandwich, and they’d eaten by the edge of a waterfall two hours away from the car, Cas watching the cascading water with a serene smile on his face. He’d even thrown a twig into the foamy roar, watching it disappear in the masses of water only to turn up a few miles down the river, reduced to splinters.

“Dean, I’ve been thinking,” Sam says when they’re back in the car, Cas watching them from the backseat with a tired, sleepy smile. He’s curled up in his blankets again, and vaguely reminds Dean of a kitten.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Dean replies without looking away from the road, smirking a little.

“Oh, funny,” Sam says easily. “I’ve never heard that before, ever.”

Dean chuckles. He’s missed this; it’s a long time since he and Sam have felt comfortable and effortless like when they were younger. Before Ruby, Hell and the Apocalypse happened and everything got so fucking complicated.

“Okay, but seriously,” Sam says. “About this whole… settling down thing.”

Dean glances in the rearview mirror, and can see that Cas is still following their conversation. He’s a little cross-eyed, though, blinking sluggishly, so he’ll fall asleep soon. “Yeah?”

Sam takes a deep breath, and Dean braces himself automatically. “I… was thinking I could go back to studying.”

Dean blinks, before staring at his brother. “Back to Stanford?”

Sam nods slowly. “I mean, that was the plan originally, and then J- everything happened.”

Dean nods. He came back for Sam; he’s the one who pulled Sam out of his own life. It makes sense that Sam would want to get back to it. “Okay.”

“Okay? That’s it?” Sam’s looking at him now, incredulous, and Dean shrugs.

“It’s your life, Sam.”

“Yeah, but-” Sam huffs.

“Look,” Dean says. “Do you still wanna be a lawyer? Is that what you wanna do with your life?”

“I- yeah,” Sam says quietly. “That’s what I want.”

“Then that’s what you do. Simple as that.” Dean glances over at him. “We’ve done our part, Sam. And God fucking knows we’ve paid our price for it too.”

There’s a gentle touch on his shoulder, and when Dean turns a little, he can see it’s Cas’s hand. “Do you agree, Cas?” he asks, peering at the curled-up ex-angel in the backseat.

Cas nods and smiles at Sam.

“I- Thanks, guys,” Sam says and sounds a little overwhelmed. “But it’s not that simple. I dropped out. I don’t know if they’ll accept me back-”

“So we’ll find that out,” Dean assures him. “We’re on our way to Cali anyway. I’m sure Cas wanna see California, right, Cas?”

Cas grins tiredly and lies back down.

“So that’s settled, then,” Dean says. “If you feel up to it, of course. What’s Lucifer think about it?”

Sam huffs a laugh. “He says to tell you he knows how you’re w-” and then he cuts himself off. “You know what? It’s nothing.”

“No no, tell me! Now you’ve got me all curious.”

Sam looks uncertain now. “He, um… says he knows how you’re watching Cas when he’s sleeping.”

Dean freezes, and his gaze flicks up to the rearview mirror without his own permission.

Cas’s eyes, which were almost closed a minute ago, are wide and staring directly at Dean.

Dean stares at the road, forces out a fake laugh, and doesn’t say anything else.

Sam, who seems to understand that he somehow said something wrong, keeps quiet. The easy atmosphere in the car is replaced with heavy tension, and Sam looks a little miserable where he sits.

When Dean dares to look back in the rearview mirror half an hour later, Cas is asleep.

~*~


	6. Made of an Angel’s Tears and Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Where Dean hears Castiel’s voicemail._

Sam’s at the reception paying for tonight’s room, and Cas is still asleep in the Impala. Dean’s outside getting their duffel bags from the trunk, bracing himself a little before he opens it. Because every time he opens his baby’s trunk, his eyes are immediately drawn to Cas’s old, stained trenchcoat.

 _Lucifer says he knows how you’re watching Cas when he’s sleeping._ Has Sam been watching him? Because that isn’t what this is about. Dean isn’t some creepy Edward Cullen dude – he’s been watching for signs of nightmares, trying to steer them in a safer direction before Cas can wake up, sweaty and panting with wild-looking eyes.

God, what must Cas be thinking about him right now?

Dean’s pulled out the trenchcoat before he realizes, feeling the rough, worn material against his fingers and wondering if this would’ve been harder or simpler if Cas was still an angel. Whether anything would’ve happened at all. Something thuds quietly, and Dean frowns.

A phone. Cas’s phone. It must have fallen out of the coat’s pocket when he lifted it, and now it’s lying in a corner of the trunk, all inconspicuous. Dean hasn’t seen it since the angel Fell. He picks it up. It’s turned off, but he knows the code. As soon as he’s turned it on, it beeps sharply to tell him that he’s got one new voicemail message. Dean presses play, lifting the phone to his ear, but instead of hearing the message someone left, he hears the original voicemail.

His breath hitches.

Sam walks out after a minute. “Twenty-seven, Dean,” he says over his shoulder. “And wake up Cas, if you don’t wanna take him with you.” He trudges off to their room, expecting Dean to go and pick up some diner food. He doesn’t notice Dean’s expression, how he’s standing with Cas’s phone pressed so hard against his ear it hurts.

Dean hears the car door opening, and Cas tumbles out with rumpled clothes, bed-hair and bleary eyes. He gives Dean an uncertain look.

“Uh, we… we’re staying in room twenty-seven,” Dean says, still with the phone in his hand.

Cas points at the phone and frowns. _What?_ he signs clumsily.

“I, uh…” Dean doesn’t trust his voice. His hand is curled around the phone, trying to act like nothing’s out of the ordinary. It’s been one month and three weeks since Dean last heard Cas’s voice. This is all that’s left of it. “Nothing, Cas.”

Cas doesn’t buy that, of course. His frown deepens, and he gestures at the phone. _Mine_ , he signs.

“No, no this is-” Dean can see Cas knows he’s lying, and sighs. “Yeah, it is. I didn’t find it until now.”

 _Give,_ Cas signs and reaches for it.

“No, Cas-”

Cas stares at him, and though he doesn’t say a word, Dean feels like he’s being yelled at. _There are so many things you’re not telling me about, Dean. Is this going to be one more?_

So he hands him the phone.

Cas sees the message, and calls up his voicemail. Dean wants to close his eyes, but in the end he just watches as Cas’s face stiffens and then crumbles.

_" ’You’ve reached the voicemail of-‘ I don't understand... why, why do you want me to say my name?"_

Cas’s free hand comes up to his throat as he stares at nothing, listening to himself. When the message is done, he gives the phone back to Dean. His movements are sluggish, like he doesn’t realize he’s moving at all.

“Cas?”

Cas leans against the Impala’s side and slides down to the ground. His breath is slow, his eyes dry, his mouth closed. Dean doesn’t know what’s happening, or not happening, and it freaks him out.

“Cas.” He sits down and tries to capture Cas’s gaze, but he can’t. It’s like Cas doesn’t notice he’s there at all, one palm against the dry asphalt and the other around his throat. “Cas, hey,” Dean tries again, and puts a hand on Cas’s shoulder. No reaction. “You here, man?”

Cas’s right hand clenches, knuckles slowly whitening. It takes a few seconds before Dean realizes Cas isn’t breathing anymore.

His angel’s choking himself.

“Cas! Hey!” Dean pries Cas’s fingers loose from around his own throat with effort, and as soon as he does, Cas’s eyes snap up to his. He looks furious and afraid, his gaze nearly matching the one he gave Dean one of the first days after he Fell. He opens his mouth and shouts at Dean, a quiet hiss the only sound he’s able to make.

Dean flinches, but doesn’t let go. Cas’s nails are digging into the skin on his wrist, the ex-angel still shouting soundlessly at him, and when that doesn’t make Dean go away, Cas starts hitting him with his other hand. He pounds against Dean’s chest and arms, shoulders, collarbone, even jaw. Anywhere he can reach, and though he’s not very strong, it still hurts. One particularly vicious punch hits Dean right on the nose, and his eyes water at the pain.

Dean doesn’t say a word, doesn’t shy away. Just keeps a hold of Cas’s right hand as the left one beats him, tears finally starting to slide down Cas’s cheeks. Dean lifts his own free hand, but instead of grabbing Cas’s fist, he tries to sign. _h–e–y _ c–a–s._

Cas stares at Dean, and his own fist falters. His breathing’s ragged.

Dean tries to remember how the different letters are supposed to go. _s–e–e _ I _ d–o–n–l _ n-e–e–d _ a _ v–o–i–g–e_. He’s pretty sure he messed up some of the letters, but he hopes Cas is able to get the meaning anyway.

Cas stares at him long after Dean’s stopped signing, the hand Dean’s holding still pressing sharp, slightly-too-long fingernails into the delicate skin of his wrist. Then he starts hitting again; himself this time. He lands blow after blow on his own legs and chest, and his sobs grow more desperate; louder, less angry.

“Cas, no. Stop hurting yourself.” Dean finally grabs Cas’s other hand and presses both of them against his chest, forcing the other man closer to meet his gaze. “You don’t need your voice,” he says, slowly and clearly, pressing their foreheads together. “I liked it while you had one, but I think you’re just as awesome without. Maybe even more awesome.”

Cas chokes out a laugh-sob, before his face twists in pain again and he mouths something unintelligible at Dean. His lips are chapped, and there’s a thin string of saliva trailing between them as Cas forces himself to take a deep, stuttery breath. His face is blotchy, his eyes puffy and red. His hands clench in Dean’s t-shirt, just holding on this time. Keeping him close instead of pushing him away.

Dean leans forward and presses his lips to Cas’s.

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you don’t remember, [here’s](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=92HdCq5u1WI) the original voicemail.


	7. It Ended the Day That I Walked Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Where Dean has just kissed Cas._

Oh God. Oh God, he just kissed Cas. He’s kissing Cas right now.

Oh God.

Dean opens his eyes to stare at Cas’s closed, fluttering eyelids, and pulls back sharply. Their lips part with a small noise, and when Dean licks his own nervously, he can feel a trace of salt from Cas’s tears.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck fuck. What the hell did he just do?

“I, uh…” Dean lets go of Cas’s wrists and backs up a few paces. Cas looks as stunned as Dean feels. He’s still leaning against the side of the Impala, panting for air. Whether it’s the crying or the kiss that did that, Dean doesn’t know.

“I’m sorry,” Dean blurts. “Shit, Cas, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean-” what? He didn’t mean to kiss his best friend? He didn’t mean to kiss him _now_? Dean doesn’t even know. “Fuck,” he whispers and his stomach turns.

Cas lifts a hand and touches his bottom lips gingerly, looking puzzled. _Kiss_ , he signs with the other, and it looks like a question from how he frowns slightly.

“I don’t-” Dean breaks off. He nods, swallows. “Yeah, yeah it was.” The last part’s barely a croak. Gravel’s eating into his ass where he sits, and the parking lot remains empty but for the two of them. It’s so quiet he wants to scream.

Cas just keeps staring, eyes wide and cheeks pink. Then his hand moves again. _Why?_

“I don’t know,” Dean whispers and backs up a few more paces. “I just- I don’t know, Cas. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He rubs a hand over his face angrily.

Cas’s expression closes down when Dean moves again, and he breaks their gaze. Looking at the ground, he nods once, before wiping at his face with the sleeve of his hoodie. Then he gets up on shaky legs and walks away, back to their motel room, without another look at Dean. Dean doesn’t move, doesn’t look up as Cas leaves. Just sits there, numb, nauseous and disappointed for reasons he can’t even begin to untangle.

When he hears the quiet sound of a door opening and closing, he rises to his feet and climbs into his baby. His safe haven.

Dean drives. He just drives.

~*~


	8. Colgate Tongue Warm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Where Dean is freaking out._

Cas’s lips were chapped, so chapped they’d prickled against Dean’s own. He can still feel their phantom touch, remembers how cold they were. They’re not supposed to be cold. It feels… wrong, somehow. They’re supposed to be soft and warm, pliant, like the rest of Cas. It was wrong, this was all wrong.

Dean’s parked outside a McDonald’s, forehead resting against the steering wheel, playing the moment over and over and fucking _over_ again in his head. Every time, the end changes barely. He does something different; doesn’t back off, doesn’t say he’s sorry, doesn’t let Cas walk away.

By the time he lifts his face to stare at the glaring fast food chain sign, he’s pulled Cas close in his head and kissed him again.

_Goddammit._

He still doesn’t understand how he did it. Dean knows _why_. Or he’s starting to, anyway. But he can’t understand how it was so effortless, so natural, to lean in those four last inches and effectively ruin the friendship between him and Cas.

Oh God, he just wants a drink right now. He needs to feel numb – to not _feel_ so much. It feels like someone just split him down in half, and he’s got a sinking feeling that it was he who did it.

Dean had thought that it was getting better, that _he_ was getting better. Ever since the last remnants of his nightmare of Cas has stopped appearing while he’s awake, Dean’s thought he was getting rid of the sick fascination he’s got with his – _the_ ex-angel. For the last two weeks, they’ve been… not normal, because Dean doesn’t _want_ them to be. Cas is extraordinary, and Dean would never want him to be normal. But they were okay, they were doing good.

Now everything’s messed up.

He stays still for another hour, beating himself up mentally, before he gets out of the car and goes to buy some cheap burgers. Sam’s called him three times since he left. Dean hasn’t checked his phone, but he knows it was Sam. After all, it wouldn’t make a lot of sense for Cas to call, would it?

The burgers have gone cold by the time he’s back at the motel, grease seeping into the brown paper of the bags placed on the shotgun seat. Dean sighs and grabs the bags, gets out, slams the door shut. He knows Cas and Sam heard the sound and recognized it; know he’s back.

“Here,” Dean says as soon as he walks into the room, placing the paper bags on the little table by the door and keeping his eyes on the floor.

“Dude, you took forever,” Sam says quietly. _Are you okay?_ So he knows, then. Or he guessed, based on Dean’s absence and Cas’s behavior. Dean can feel Sam’s gaze on him, hard and angry, though his brother doesn’t say anything else.

“Sorry.” _No, I’m not okay._ “I’mma head to bed; ‘m not hungry.” _And I don’t wanna talk about it._ He doesn’t meet Sam’s gaze, just head straight for the only untouched bed in the room.

Cas isn’t here. But the bathroom door’s closed, so Dean assumes he’s the only one that fled like the coward he is. He quickly strips down to his boxers as he stands by the side of his bed – wants to pretend to be asleep by the time Cas gets back. He’s not that lucky, of course.

Cas steps into the room, only clad in a too-big t-shirt and a pair of dark boxer briefs. He freezes when he sees Dean, and the tension is so sudden and thick that it’s hard to breathe. Dean stands hunched over his bed, still clasping the sheet he was just about to throw to the side.

“I’m just gonna,” Sam says loudly and walks out of the room without another word.

Neither of them move for some time. Dean straightens when his back starts complaining, but doesn’t let go of the sheet, for some reason. It’s like an anchor, allows him to grip something.

Or maybe it just stops him from going over there and kissing Cas again. Dean honestly doesn’t know.

Cas signs with his left hand, face carefully neutral. _What now?_

Dean sighs and deflates a little. “I don’t know, Cas. I’m-” _I’m sorry I ruined everything._

Cas shakes his head once, a sharp, hard movement. _Don’t._

“Don’t what?” Dean asks, voice hoarse.

Cas frowns in concentration. _Bullshit._

Despite the situation, and the tension that makes him want to throw up, Dean huffs a shaky laugh. “Don’t bullshit? Alright, fair enough.” He finally lets go of the sheet, just so he can throw his arms out in an exasperated gesture. “What do you want me to do, Cas?”

 _I don’t know._ Cas walks over to his bed and sits down heavily. He puts his hands in his lap and stares at the floor.

Dean walks around his bed and sits down too, so they’re only a foot away from each other. “I’m-”

Cas sends him a warning glare, and the words die in Dean’s throat.

“I… I don’t know what to do with this, Cas,” Dean says quietly.

 _Why kiss?_ Cas signs. He still looks frustrated, still tired. Still hurt.

“Why I kissed you?” A small nod. Dean huffs a breath and shrugs. “I dunno. It just – happened. It came outta nowhere, I swear, Cas.”

Cas swallows and nods again.

Dean waits for another minute, but when Cas doesn’t sign anything, or even move, he starts to fidget. “Cas, just – give me something to work with here, please? I mean, we can forget this ever happened if that’s what you want. Actually, that’d be really good if we could do that. Just – just tell me what to do.” _Tell me I didn’t ruin everything._

Cas just stares. There’s so much going on behind his eyes. Dean doesn’t know what to do with it. The emotions flicker across Cas’s face too fast for Dean to detangle and analyze, before they shut down and morph into a mask of detachment. Cas leans over to the bedside table and grabs his notepad and pen.

Dean waits as Cas scribbles, rips the page out of the notebook, and hands it to Dean. His fingers are cold against Dean’s palm when he accepts the curled up note, and Dean realizes with startling clarity that they’re both only clad in underwear. Without looking up at Cas, he unfolds the note.

_Do you want to kiss me now? Or was it a one-time incident?_

Dean stares at the shaky handwriting, the blue ink smudged slightly. “I don’t know,” he whispers and glances up at Cas.

Cas just looks at him, eyes dim and body deflated, almost hunched.

“… yeah.” Dean looks away, stares at a dark spot on their disgusting mustard-colored carpet. “I can’t help it, I – yeah. Yeah, I wanna, Cas.” He hears Cas sucking in a sharp breath.

A cold hand on his knee, and Dean startles from both the contact and the temperature. Cas squeezes gently, and when Dean looks back up, Cas looks scared.

But also… hopeful?

Dean feels his own heartbeat pound in his ears as he leans forward, and he almost turns to flee out the door again – clothes be damned – but this time, he can see Cas doing the same. They both lean in to meet in the middle, and Dean has to shut his eyes not to freak out.

Cas’s lips are just as dry, just as chapped, but so different all the same. He smells like Cas and tastes like toothpaste and when Dean presses in just a little more, Cas’s lips part and he lets Dean in.

Dean’s hand is suddenly on Cas’s neck, their heads tilted for a better angle, and a secret thrill goes through Dean when he notices how inexperienced Cas is. He’s sloppy and awkward, and he imitates what Dean’s doing exactly, and _fuck, he’s kissing Cas. Again._

Cas gasps when they part for air, and that’s when Dean dares to open his eyes again.

His angel’s cheeks are flushed, hot to the touch when Dean strokes a hand across his face, Cas’s eyes unapologetic and yet still desperately looking for some kind of confirmation from Dean.

“Cas,” Dean murmurs. “Is this… okay?” He has no idea, but one of them has to know. And this, this has to be Cas’s choice.

Cas nods seriously. He cards his hand slowly through Dean’s hair, fingernails gently scraping across his scalp, and Dean leans into the touch. The third time they kiss, it’s Cas who leans in all the way. It’s barely a kiss at all, just a soft press before he pulls back, but it’s enough. _Stay_ , Cas signs.

The echo of another conversation rings through Dean and he almost smiles.

That seems to be enough for Cas, who turns away from Dean to scoot under the sheets of his own bed. _Cold,_ he signs before he curls up under the blankets, shivering slightly.

“You okay?” Dean asks, and hears all the layers of the question.

Cas nods and shivers again, pulls his blanket up further so half his face is covered.

Dean hesitates. This… _thing_ , if it’s going to be a thing at all, is so new. But… “Do you want me to…?” He doesn’t quite manage to finish the question, but Cas just blinks at him. Then he scoots backward, leaving an empty space on his bed, and gives Dean a hopeful smile.

Dean slides into the bed next to Cas, and though this won’t be the first time they’ve slept together – literally – it’s nothing like that night on the couch. That was Cas’s tears and misery, Dean holding on, and Cas clinging to him in his sleep while Dean tried to think about other things. Now, there’s a good inch between the two of them, and they both seem reluctant to move any closer. Finally Dean stretches his arm a little, until his fingers brush against Cas’s shoulder, and Cas seems to take that as some kind of permission. He scoots a little closer, Dean scoots a little closer, and before they know it, they’re flush against each other.

Dean slips one arm around Cas hesitantly, and Cas tucks his head under Dean’s jaw. He still shivers slightly, and he’s cold against Dean, so Dean pulls him even closer to share more of his own body warmth with his angel.

His angel. Maybe… maybe Cas can be his. Dean doesn’t have a lot of things that are his; that he loves. He kinda really wants Cas to be his - as long as he stays the same. _Don’t ever change, Cas._

He closes his eyes and feels Cas breaths against his t-shirt. The tension gradually leaves his body, same with Cas, and after a while, the ex-angel’s breathing evens out completely.

When Sam comes back in an hour later, Dean feigns sleep. He’d honestly forgotten about Sammy, about what his brother would think finding Dean and Cas in the same bed, but now it’s way too late to do anything about it. Besides, Cas is sleeping soundly in his arms, and if Dean started moving, he’d only wake him up. Maybe like this, Cas can have a night free of bad dreams. They can hope.

“Fucking idiots,” Dean hears Sam mutter quietly, before there’s rustling of a paper bag and chewing sounds.

Dean doesn’t hear Sam go to bed, but he does remember smiling at his stupid kid brother. Even with the knowledge that Sam will never, _ever_ let him live this down.

~*~


	9. Sunday Wake-Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Where Sam’s relatively pleased, and a little worried for his own continued wellbeing._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since this is the first part told from Sam's POV, this is technically the first time we meet HalLucifer. Enjoy?

It’s early morning, and Dean’s fast asleep when Cas starts twitching, the first tell-tale sign of a nightmare. He doesn’t wake up when Cas’s breath starts to quicken, when he curls a little more in on himself. But he groans in his sleep and shifts, and his arms around Cas tighten a little. He nuzzles against Cas’s neck and falls quiet. Cas relaxes instantly.

Neither of them wake up. They don’t know Sam’s watching the display from where he’s sitting at the table, but that’s okay. He can use it as blackmail material against his brother later.

If he’s honest with himself, Sam was more than a little surprised when he walked back into the room last night to find his brother and Cas in bed together. Not that he hasn’t seen it coming – Dean and Cas have been pining over each other for years now. He really thought they’d get together before they left Bobby’s, after he overheard Dean and Cas’s loud (from Dean’s side) discussion. But his brother’s always been an idiot. And last night, he’d been an even bigger idiot than usual, and had run off to let Sam deal with the mess.

Sam’s never been wary of physical contact, not in the way Dean has. (Then again, Sam doesn’t have a hidden closet.) So it hadn’t been much of a question of what to do when Cas had stumbled into their room last night, pale and quiet with hollow, shiny eyes. Sam didn’t know exactly what had gone down between the ex-angel and his brother – still doesn’t – but he’d guessed enough. He asked Cas if he was okay, and when Cas had pulled a Dean and signed _I’m fine_ at him, complete with a pained, fake smile, Sam had asked Cas if he wanted a hug.

Cas had clung to Sam like a dying man, trembling, and Sam had sent ugly thoughts in Dean’s direction.

Dean must have done something right, though, by the looks of it. Sam’s brother lies on his back, limbs sprawled underneath the blankets, snoring slightly. Cas seems to be curled up in the spare space of the bed, snuggled tightly against Dean’s side. Cas looks completely at ease where he rests, his face pressed into the hollow of Dean’s throat.

Sam’s not yet sure whether he wants to hit his brother or applaud him; mostly he just want to ask him what he did yesterday, and why the fuck he hasn’t done it before.

He _is_ pleased by this turn of events, though. Even if it does raise the awkward question of separate vs. shared rooms, because as much as Sam wants Dean to be happy, there’s stuff he doesn’t need to know about. Right now, he’s just glad he walked in on his brother and Cas _sleeping_ last night.

Sam’s takes a sip of his bland cup of coffee, and waits for the lovebirds to wake up. He’s not sure what’s going to happen then, but he’s eager to find out.

“They’re so adorable I want to throw up a little,” Lucifer says, standing by the bed, peering down at the two sleeping men. He leans down to pet Dean’s hair. “Never thought your idiot brother would actually take my advice.” He grins at Sam, a combination of jovial and insane. “See, Sammy? I help out.”

Sam snorts into his cup.

Dean makes a small noise, something between a snore and a grunt, and Sam knows he’s waking up. His brother blinks and lifts his head from the pillow – Cas’s pillow – and turns his head to squint blearily in Sam’s direction.

“Morning,” Sam says, voice cheery.

“Sleep well, honey?” Lucifer coos.

Dean blinks at him, looks down at Cas, then up to Sam again. He looks a little lost, like a deer caught in the headlights. But he doesn’t move away from Cas, or panic, or try to bullshit his way out of the situation.

So Sam takes pity on him. For now. “You want breakfast?” His voice is quiet, because Cas is still sleeping, and he looks so cute where he’s happily snorfling into Dean’s neck that Sam doesn’t have the heart to wake him.

Dean blinks once, twice, three times. Like an owl. Then he nods.

“Cool,” Sam says faux-casually, and rises from his chair.

“Aww, come on, Sammy,” Lucifer whines behind him. “Don’t leave! I want to see what happens when my little brother wakes up!”

Sam shrugs on his jacket and heads outside, closing the door quietly behind himself. He’ll take his time. Dean probably wants time to cuddle with Cas. Hopefully.

Sam feels a little too emotionally invested in Dean and Cas’s love lives right now, and wonders if it’s because he’s channeling Lucifer’s messed up big brother instinct. He firmly pushes the thought away and goes to look for breakfast, Lucifer trailing alongside him. The Devil hums ‘Heat of the Moment’ by Asia, and Sam feels strangely at ease.

~*~


	10. I’m Now Becoming My Own Self-Fulfilling Prophecy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Where Sam gives Dean The Talk and Dean does not miss the irony._

Dean opens his eyes when he hears the snick of the door, knowing he and Cas are alone for now. He stares at the stained ceiling and sends a thought of gratitude to his brother. Dean’s more than enough out of his depth as is. He really doesn’t need Sam to be here right now, adding to the awkward.

He moves his arm – the one not currently trapped under Cas’s lax form – up to the sleeping man’s neck, rubbing gently with the pad of his thumb. “Cas,” Dean murmurs. More than anything he wants to let Cas sleep until he wakes up by himself, but he doesn’t know how long Sam will give them. He needs to do this now – even if he has no idea what he’s planning to do. “Cas, wake up.” He keeps his voice a low murmur, doesn’t want to scare him.

Cas shifts and stretches lazily, a deep sigh ghosting over Dean’s collarbone. Dean can feel Cas’s ribcage expanding with the slow intake of breath, and the ex-angel turns to his side, pressing a little more against him.

“You awake?” Dean murmurs and looks down.

Cas blinks his eyes open, a little cross-eyed when he tries to focus on Dean’s face. He yawns and stretches more. Dean can feel Cas’s toes brushing his own, hears the faint sound of popping vertebras.

“Morning, ” Dean says and doesn’t move away. His hand on Cas’s neck stills, and he waits.

Cas sneaks a hand out from the sheets. _Ditto_. The signing’s even more clumsy than usual, Cas’s limbs still sleepy and uncooperative. Dean smiles at him.

“So,” he says, feeling a little awkward.

Cas frowns, before he huffs. Then he pointedly leans forward, gives Dean a soft peck on the corner of the mouth, and lies back down to rest against Dean’s chest. His arms worm around his waist and squeeze.

Well. Dean can’t ask for a more clear answer than that. “Okay, Cas,” he says and chuckles, and starts moving his thumb in lazy circles on Cas’s neck again. “Fair enough.”

Cas smiles, eyes closed and body lax.

~

By the time Sam comes back with fresh sandwiches, Dean and Cas are both out of the bed and fully clothed. They’re sitting on their respective beds, fingerspelling at each other. Cas signs, Dean says the letters out loud – the letter he _thinks_ it is, at least. He’s right seven out of ten times now, which he’s pretty damn pleased with.

“Hey, Cas,” Sam says, casual as fucking ever, and hands him a sandwich. “Sleep well?”

Dean gives him a half-hearted glare, but Cas smiles shyly and nods. He accepts the sandwich, suddenly incredibly interested in the processing of unwrapping it, and Dean can see the tips of his ears grow a light pink.

“Dean, can I talk to you for a sec?” Sam says, voice neutral in a way that tells Dean his brother is _anything_ but neutral.

Here we fucking go. “Sure,” Dean says and rises to his feet, but Cas jumps up like something bit him in the ass and signs at them.

 _Out, nice,_ and then he’s out the room, leaving Dean to the mercy of his brother.

“Huh,” Dean says and looks at the closed door. Cas is even better at understanding Samlish than Dean thought.

“Dean,” Sam says in his grave-yet-amused tone, and slumps down on the chair by their little table. It squeaks pitifully under his weight.

“Come on, get it off your chest,” Dean mutters and unwraps his own sandwich, taking a bite. Ham and cheese, boring, but not bad-tasting.

“Do you guys need me to get a separate room?” Sam asks, and he sounds so serious Dean is taken completely by surprise.

“Whut?” he gets out, voice muffled by the food, and blinks at his brother.

“You and Cas,” Sam says, like this is something normal and not worth freaking out about at all.

“You, uh…” Dean’s not sure how to put it. “This doesn’t… this is okay for you?”

Sam gives Dean a look that’s a touch too exasperated to be a bitchface. “You’re a grown-up, Dean. And Cas is a million years old. I think you’re both old enough to make your own decisions.”

“Sam, jesus.” Dean grimaces. “And that’s n-” he cuts himself off.

Sam looks like he has a tiny epiphany. Dean wishes he could have one as well. “Oh, is this about the gay thing?”

Dean chokes on his sandwich. “What?”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Dean, you’re sharing a bed with Cas. You were _snuggling._ ”

“We were not!”

Sam sighs. “Look, I get it. New and exciting, and it’s Cas so you’re probably panicking, but calm down. Only one freaking out here is you.”

Dean suspects he’s still gaping like a goldfish. “How,” he splutters.

Sam sighs and drags a hand through his floppy hair. “With the impressive amount of freaking out you’ve already managed to do? Yeah, I figured this was something new to you.” He gives Dean a smile. “Do you need me to have The Talk with you? Because some of the mechanics-”

“Fuck you, Sam,” Dean bites out and puts down his sandwich. He feels nauseous. “It’s not funny. I don’t –“ He sighs.

“You don’t what?” Sam says, brotherly concern now creeping into his voice.

“I just – I’m kinda out of my depth on this one, y’know?” Dean lets out a shaky laugh. “I mean, it’s _Cas._ I don’t even know if I should be-” He stops there, fiddling with the greasy paper that used to be wrapped around his sandwich.

“Dean,” Sam says softly. “Please don't back off and run away from this. Again.”

“Again? I didn’t-“

“You really gonna try that?” Sam says, and now his voice is sharp. “You weren’t here yesterday, Dean. I was.”

He flinches at that. “Was it bad?”

“Yeah. Very.” Sam’s eyes are hard when Dean meets them. “You’ve _got_ to stop acting like you’re the only one with the right to choose, Dean. Cas can take care of himself.” Sam sits back in the chair, eyes fond again.

Dean frowns, and then snorts a laugh. “I can’t believe you’re giving me the Big Brother speech.”

“Well,” Sam says with a shrug, “Cas is family. And you’re the idiot here, so it’s you I’ve gotta warn. Cas isn’t the one who’ll turn tail and run.”

Dean sighs. “No. He’s not.” He flops back on the bed and drags a hand wearily across his face.

Sam watches him in silence for a minute. “Do me a favor, Dean.”

“What favor?” Dean turns his head to peer at him.

“Take Cas on a date.” Sam looks serious.

Dean splutters. “What? Why?”

“Because it’s normal." Sam smiles. "And because it might be Cas’s only chance to try it out.”

Dean sits back up. “What makes you believe that?”

“Dean,” Sam says softly. “Cas has died for you twice. Almost three times. I’m kinda thinking you’re it for him.”

“Fuck,” Dean mumbles.

“Freak out now, get over it,” Sam says and smiles before growing serious again. “Just don’t take it out on Cas anymore.”

“Right.” Dean takes a few deep breaths. “Okay. Fine. Cool. Okay.”

“There we go,” Sam says and snorts. “Even Lucifer thinks you’re doing good.”

“Fuck you, Sammy,” Dean says without heat, and his brother laughs. Dean gets up off the bed and walks to the door. “I’mma go check on Cas, make sure we didn’t scare him off.”

“Nah,” Sam says and rises to his feet as well. “Takes more than that to scare Cas. He’s a tough guy.”

Dean shakes his head, his lips curling into a smile. “You ain’t wrong,” he murmurs and gets outside.

Cas is sitting out on the asphalt, back resting carefully against the Impala’s side. He looks perfectly at ease, eyes closed against the sun that's warming his pale face. Even Dean’s baby looks happy to have him there.

“You’re hopeless,” Sam says right next to his ear, and Dean jumps a little.

“What’s that?”

“You’re all googly-eyed,” Sam says and makes a grimace. “I haven’t seen you like this since you were seventeen and crushing on Susie Matthews.”

Dean punches Sam on the arm, but doesn’t say anything. Judging by Sam’s sly grin, his brother knows why Dean can’t argue.

Disgusting as it sounds, Dean’s actually feeling slightly… googly. It makes his metaphorical balls shrivel up and die, but he can’t help it. Cas is gorgeous where he sits, looking completely human and completely fine. Dean knows he isn’t, not by a long shot, but he’s getting there.

Dean has a sneaky feeling that everything’s gonna turn out okay, and it unnerves him. Because he’s a Winchester, and Winchesters don’t get a break. Dean was never meant for a happy ending. He’s afraid to get a taste of it, only to have it ripped away from him again.

“Hey, Cas.” They walk up to the guy, who blinks his eyes open to squint at them against the sunlight. Cas looks between Dean and Sam, looking for a clue as to what their conversation was about. He looks a little nervous, Dean thinks, but not afraid or uncomfortable.

“You ready to go?” Dean asks with a disarming smile, trying to wordlessly convey that everything’s alright.

Cas nods and gets up, dusts off his jeans and heads back to the room to get his stuff. When he brushes past Dean, he not-so-accidentally runs his fingers along Dean’s hand. He doesn’t look at Dean when he does it, and Dean doesn’t give him away. But he doesn’t move either, and he can feel the slight electricity of the touch long after Cas has disappeared.

“Sap,” Sam stage-whispers.

Dean cuffs him upside the head and trudges back to the room to pack his own stuff.

~*~


	11. Won’t You Quit Your Crying? (I Can’t Sleep)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Where they’re out of their depth, but mostly okay, and Dean finds a way to chase away Cas’s nightmares._

The first days with Cas are… weird. It’s like they suddenly don’t know how to act around each other; whether something should change, or if they should keep going like nothing’s happened at all. It’s like they’re playing a game without knowing the rules, and while they stumble around awkwardly, Sam is on the sidelines watching with exasperation.

Cas starts initiating gentle touches, brief contact, but never anything else. Dean is wary of doing anything at all with Sam in the same room, and given that they’re still traveling across the country, Sam is pretty much always around. They all still have to share a room, because the money’s getting dangerously tight. As soon as they get to Cali, Dean knows he’ll have to find a job. If not, he’ll be forced to hustle pool. Not that he can’t do that anymore, of course, it’s just that it’s not exactly part of his ‘be normal’ plan.

He’s starting to sign with Cas now. Only finger spelling, but he gets a lot more of the letters right than he used to. Cas gets so happy every time Dean or Sam take the effort to ‘talk’ like him; so much that they have to ask him to slow down, actually. Cas’s ASL gets sloppy and fervent whenever he gets excited about something.

Sam’s been fiddling with an online re-application to Stanford, Dean knows. Something about applying for mitigating circumstances. Seems fair – losing your girlfriend, father, yourself, your brother, your friend, your other brother, and then going to Hell for a hundred years with the Devil as a playmate should hardly raise doubt about the question of special circumstances. Of course, they can’t put even half of Sam’s circumstances down on paper without getting admitted to a mental hospital, so that complicates matters quite a bit.

April changes to May, and the weather gets lighter and hotter as they draw nearer to the California border. They spend the days making their way through Utah in a leisurely pace, and Dean and Cas spend most nights in their respective beds. But whenever Cas wakes up from a nightmare, Dean pads over to sit on the bed with him. This is one of the few places Dean isn’t afraid – here he just pulls Cas close and holds him tight, whispers soothing nothings while Cas cries over twisted memories and phantom pains along his back. He can kiss Cas here, soft but unapologetic, letting Cas know that as useless as Dean is with everything else, this is something he can do. Something he _wants_ to do. And when it’s over, when Cas calms down, Dean goes back to his own bed and stares at Cas, and Cas stares back until his eyelids flutter closed and he falls asleep.

Those few nights when that’s not enough, when the horrors playing in Cas’s mind are stronger than the immediate comfort Dean can give him – _that’s_ when he gets under the blankets. Where he can curl around Cas’s shaking form, draw him closer until the angel can hide from his own head. Where Cas can press his face against Dean’s neck and use the smell to ground him in reality, shake him loose from the aftershocks of the dream.

It’s one of these nights when not even Dean’s closeness is enough to calm the ex-angel down, when Cas just trembles against him, too afraid to cry, that Dean gets an idea. He pulls Cas closer, nuzzles the shell of his ear, and opens his mouth.

“ _There’s a lady who’s sure all that glitters is gold, and she’s buying the stairway to Heaven._ ” He sings softly, his fingers trailing slowly up and down the length of Cas’s arm, carefully gauging Cas’s reaction. “ _When she gets there she knows, if the stores are all closed, with a word she can get what she came for._ ”

Cas shifts and pulls away slightly, enough that he can look at Dean’s face. His eyes are clouded by his own fear, but still so clear, and it feels like he’s staring right through Dean. Dean feels self-conscious, all of a sudden, and almost as vulnerable as Cas – and it hits him that maybe that’s exactly it. It’s not just Cas who’s stripped bare, not just Cas who has all his defenses lowered right now. Dean’s lowering his own too, letting Cas under his skin, into places not even Sam can go.

Cas puts a hand on the side of Dean’s throat, feeling the vibrations as Dean sings one of his favorite songs.

“ _And if you listen very hard, the tune will come to you at last. When all are one and one is all, to be a rock and not to roll,_ ” Dean finishes, voice barely above a whisper, “ _And she’s buying the stairway… to Heaven._ ”

Cas smiles, the pain bled away to have been replaced by calm contentment, and kisses him. It’s soft, almost careful. A thank you, Dean thinks.

“Go back to sleep,” Dean whispers and strokes his angel’s cheek.

Cas nods, leaning into the contact, before shifting around until his head rests on Dean’s chest. Right above his heart. Dean takes one of Cas’s hands and intertwines their fingers, before he closes his eyes and lets sleep claim him. Strangely – or not so strangely – enough, he sleeps better the nights he shares the bed with Cas. He feels safer with Cas right there, warm and real.

It’s been nine weeks since Cas Fell. Dean’s life is better than it has been in nine years.

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case that was un-clear, the in-chapter quotes are from Led Zeppelin's 'Stairway To Heaven'.


	12. One Minute I’m A Little Sweetheart (The Next You’re An Absolute Creep)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Where Cas becomes a Winchester and Dean is in over his head (again)._

Cas likes California, that much is clear. It’s warm and sunny, and instead of spending the days huddled with his blankets in the backseat, Cas now sits up a lot more, gazing out of the Impala's windows with bright eyes. Dean keeps an eye on him in the rearview mirror, and notices that the ex-angel sometimes signs to himself. Dean’s not good at ASL yet, not apart from the fingerspelling, but he thinks they’re words as ‘sky’, ‘tree’, ‘car’, ‘road’. Dean has to smile a little to himself whenever he catches Cas doing that.

In Palo Alto, where Stanford is, they have to drive through the city itself. San Fransisco’s the largest city Cas has been in since he fell, and he looks intimidated by it. One hand grips the leather seat tightly, fingers curled around the head rest close to Dean’s head, and with the other against the window, he watches the skyscrapers and tall buildings with wide eyes. Dean knows he probably remembers at least some of this from the angelic knowledge he once had, but with his human brain it probably feels like he’s discovering everything all over again.

They drop Sam off outside the Stanford gates, and leave with the promise that Dean will find a motel as close as possible and then message Sam about the name. Sam looks stressed already – fiddling with his jacket, straightening his shirt, brushing his hands through his floppy-ass hair over and over again.

“Hey, Sasquatch,” Dean says out of the rolled-down window of his baby. “Calm the fuck down. You beat the Devil – a couple of teachers shouldn’t be much of a problem.”

Sam just grimaces and turns to leave.

Cas knocks on the window, and Sam spins back around – probably terrified that he’s forgot something or he’s accidentally not wearing pants or something. But Cas just signs _good luck_ with fingerspelling, and Sam’s face softens slightly. He signs _thank you_ back, and walks off. Dean looks at the rearview mirror and sees that Cas is grinning widely.

He snorts, and Cas’s eyes find his. Dean winks and they drive off to find somewhere cheap to live. They have about three hudred bucks left to live for, which means he has to find a job _today_. No matter how boring or bad it is.

They find a nice little place by Saratoga, about half an hour from Stanford. It’s pretty cheap and the room comes with free breakfast. While Sam spends time begging on his knees, Dean flits around town trying to get a full-time job. In the end, he’s only able to land one as a counter assistant at the local Walmart. Cas stays in the room most of the time, learning his ASL and surfing the Wi-Fi they get at the motel.

Dean hates his job. He really, really hates his job. After spending eight hours in a store he rarely even shopped at when he was a hunter, getting nothing but sour looks and money he can’t keep, trying to learn the fucking cash register system, he just want to scream _I saved the fucking world, assholes_. But he doesn’t. Because as shit as this job is, at least he’s getting money, and it’s legitimate too. No stealing, no scamming. The only scamming they’re doing is Cas, but that’s because they have to. It’s not like they can use Jimmy Novak’s birth certificate – his wife and daughter are still out there, somewhere, mourning the man they lost. Jimmy’s dead, even if Cas isn’t, and it just seems cruel to Dean that they would try to ‘steal’ Jimmy’s identity again. He’s sure Cas agrees. Besides, this is Cas’s life now. He deserves to get to be himself in it.

Dean’s phoned Bobby and gotten help finding a forger in San Fransisco. He and Cas drive up there on Saturday - which means Dean’s off from work as well – and have a talk with the guy. The fee’s pricey, but the man (who reminds Dean of Ash personality-wise, though he doesn’t have the mullet) owes Bobby a favor or two. In the end, they get everything for free – provided that Dean fix the guy’s car. (It’s a 1965 Chevrolet Camaro, yellow, so it’s not like Dean minds.) One passport for Castiel Winchester, one credit card belonging to the same bank account as Dean and Sam, and one driver’s licence. According to the papers, Cas is thirty-eight years old, and was born March fourth. (In a manner, he was. It’s the date he fell. Dean hopes that with time, and birthday presents, they can make that day a bit less haunting for Cas. He doesn’t tell the ex-angel that, though.)

Mark the Forger lives about seven hours outside Palo Alto, in a place called Winnimucca. On the way back, Dean takes Cas through Grass Valley. He has a feeling Cas likes quiet towns a lot better than major cities.

Cas sits in the shotgun seat today, which gives him a lot more windows to look out from. Dean keeps his eyes on the road, but still notices how Cas twists and turns in his seat to get a look at as much surroundings as he can. Grass Valley is a beautiful, little valley. There are clusters of small yellow and white houses, each with their own small gardens attached. The gardens are pretty, full of trees and colorful plants Dean doesn’t know the names of, but they still don’t have that rigid suburbian look that makes Dean’s skin itch just to look at. The people they see aren’t buttoned-up business men and rich ladies with fashion clothes and expensive hair-dos. Instead they’re hippies; long tunics and longer hair with pearls and shells braided into haph-hazard hair styles. Men as well as the women. They whistle appreciatively at Dean’s baby when they drive past, a few of them smkoking cigarettes, pipe or even weed.

They stop for lunch at a local café; Woodstuck. The yellow paint on the concrete walls is flaking, showing grey patches here and there. Most of the patches are hidden by posters and old LP-records like Jimi Hendrix, Grateful Dead, CCR and Santana. There are old trinkets and pocals shoved side by side in the shelves up by the ceiling, and there are no chairs. Instead there are small, round metal tables that looks like garden furniture, and beanbags they can sit in. It’s cool inside here, away from the sun, and the air smells of herbs. Dean blinks at the room, feeling very skeptic all of a sudden. There’s a few people in here, talking animatedly in the corner, lounging in their bags. One of them seems to be the café owner.

“Um, maybe we should…” But Cas is already flopping down into a beanbag, head whirring around to look at everything at once. “… Okay.” Dean sits down gingerly, his bag melding around his form. Every time he moves, the bag crackle-swishes, which is pretty annoying. But now the owner’s coming over, so Dean figures it’s too late to leave.

“Just passing through?” the guy asks. He’s got a tattoo covering half of his face, a series of complicated patterns swirling around his eye, nose, cheek and ear. He’s got long, greyeing hair and a wide, toothy grin. “I don’t recognize you. I’m Nathan.”

“Yeah, we – yeah.” Dean smiles back, not as strained as he thought it would be, and the guy hands them a couple of scruffy-looking menus. “I’m Dean, and that’s Cas.”

“Cool, Dean and That’s Cas. Just holler when you need me,” he says and winks at both of them once before going back to his group of friends.

Cas inspects the menu as if he’s deciphering a text. Dean gives it a quick skim-over, and realizes that they’re in a vegetarian café. Fucking awesome. Sam would love this place. Maybe _he_ should be the one taking Cas on a date here.

… wait, what?

Cas pulls him out of this rather alarming turn of mental events by tapping on his menu and frowning at it. “Wh – um, what’s that, Cas?” Dean says eloquently.

Cas points at his menu.

Dean huffs a strange laugh. “I dunno what couscous is. You could ask the tattoo guy. Um, Nathan.” Said tattoo guy is now walking back towards them, fresh set of menus under his arm and the same smile on his face. It’s slightly off, but friendly, and he looks over Cas’s shoulder like he overheard their brief conversation.

“You know what you want yet?” he says, and Cas taps his finger against the menu twice. “The curry couscous. Nice choice.” He glances over at Dean. “Big guy Dean?”

“Um, just some fries,” Dean says, wondering if he should feel annoyed at the nickname.

Nathan bounces off to shout something unintelligible in through the kitchen door, before he’s back with his friends. They seem to be playing around with a bowl of pasta, one brown-haired girl pushing a strand of tagliatelle into a tall, dark skinned guy’s mouth. Then they proceed to play a scene from that Disney movie with the dogs, and Dean kinda has to look away.

Cas follows his gaze, and looks… pleased, for some reason.”Cas,” Dean says, and he starts. “Staring equals rude, remember?”

Cas _blushes_ , he honest-to-God blushes, and quickly averts his gaze to stare down at the table. He pretends to read his menu carefully, almost squinting at the small, hand-scribbled words, but he’s not much of a better liar now than he was as an angel.

“What’s the deal, Cas?” Dean asks, lips curling into an amused smile. If Cas wanna get a show, Dean could always show him some porn. Staring at people making out in public is a little risky – usually strikes pretty high on the creepometer.

Cas frowns, before he pulls out his little notepad and scribbles. _They’re beautiful._

“Um, sure. If that’s how you wannna see it.” Dean pointedly does _not_ look over at the couple sitting with their friends, but he does look at Cas. Cas has got this weird look on his face – confused, pleased and longing all at once. “Cas?” Dean prods.

More scribbling, before Cas shoves the pad towards him. _They display their affection for each other, in front of friends and strangers. Without reservation or embarrassment._

Oh, man. Dean’s not sure if he likes where this seems to be heading. Even if his brain makes this the moment to remind him of that whole date-slip earlier. “Um, yeah?”

Cas’s left hand twitches, and his gaze flicks down to Dean’s hand on the table. But he doesn’t move, he just shrugs.

“No, seriously, what?” And jesus, why does he keeps _asking_ about this?

Cas frowns and pulls his pad back. This time he writes for a long time, filling page after page on his pad. Dean watches him go, half in fascination and half in dread. Cas keeps writing until Nathan comes with their food. Only then does he put the pen down, flip the pages back, and hand it to Dean.

“What’s that, a secret letter?” Nathan says and nods at the pad.

Cas gives him a slightly uncomfortable smile, and Dean accepts the pad. He doesn’t read it yet – doesn’t want to, with tattoo guy standing right by them. He doesn’t know what Cas wrote, but he usually keeps his notes pretty brief, so this has got to be important. “Nothing special,” he tells the guy, subtly trying to make him leave.

Or not so subtle, by the arched eyebrow Nathan gives him. “So, you’re a quiet guy, aren’t you?” The question is aimed at Cas, even as his gaze flicks over at Dean, and the smile turns a little strained. “Or maybe the boyfriend just likes to do the talking.”

Dean’s about to mouth off, because seriously, who the fuck does this douchebag think he is? (And they’re not boyfriends!) But Cas puts a hand on his, just a brief touch, and Dean’s attention shifts. Cas taps at his throat, eyes on Nathan, and smiles before pointing at his pad. “He can’t talk,” Dean says with a little more bite than what’s probably necessary. “Cas is mute.” He gives Cas back his pad, and Cas scribbles something really fast. _Faster for Dean to talk._

“Aaah,” Nathan says as understanding dawns on his face. The strained look is replaced with one of curiosity. “So can you, like, make no sounds at all?”

Cas pointedly blows a raspberry at him. Dean blinks – he’s never seen Cas do that before. It’s _weird_. (But kinda funny too.)

Nathan cackles. “That is _awesome_.” And he claps Cas once on the shoulder before he leaves them again.

“Weirdo,” Dean mutters under his breath, but he can feel himself relaxing at the guy’s reaction. Up until now, they haven’t told a lot of people that Cas can’t talk. Usually, Sam or Dean will just talk instead of Cas. It’s not because they’re trying to hide it, or because they’re embarrassed – Dean just feels uncomfortable ‘outing’ Cas. Cas should do that himself.

Cas looks relaxed and kinda pleased, but pokes at his food for a minute without tasting it. The notepad lies on the middle of the little table, all inconspicuous, but Cas’s gaze keeps getting drawn to it. Dean’s fries smell good – _really_ good for salad place fries – but he picks up the pad instead of eating. “You want me to read what you wrote me?” he asks, surprised when the words come out a soft murmur.

A small nod, before Cas stuffs his mouth full with yellow couscous. It’s a gesture Dean recognizes; something very human he does himself when he doesn’t know what to say about something. It strikes him as odd that Cas does this subconsciously – especially since it doesn’t make a difference whether Cas’s mouth is full or empty. It’s not like Dean’s gonna hear his voice anyway. Like, ever.

Dean tears his gaze away, clears his throat, and opens the notepad on the right page. He decrypts Cas’s crawly scribbles with ease, and reads.

_Angels are cautious about whom they share physical affection with. But between close brothers or sisters – what you would call ‘friends’ – physical contact is common. We entwine our Grace to reassure our close ones that we love and care about them, in front of other angels as well as alone. Balthazar and I shared a bond like this. So did me and Gabriel, a very long time ago. Seeing two people as together as this; proud of their love, willing to state it to the world… it makes me miss what I once had._

Dean has to stop for a moment and breathe. Shit, he’s so out of his depth here. Cas misses his _family_. And he knows that Cas and Balthazar were close for the last months he fought alongside them, which naturally would make all this harder on him. Dean regrets ever taking Cas to this place, reminding him of everything he’s lost yet again.

 _I hope you can bear with me, Dean. I still miss so much – my Grace, my brothers, my powers, my voice.You and Sam bring me great amounts of comfort, and I am very grateful. It – this life – is easier than two months ago. The way **you** comfort me at night, with physical touches and tender words, soothes my nightmares and brings me closer to what I once shared with my brothers. Yet I still can’t help but feel clumsy and –_ here, Cas has scratched out a word with his little black pen before writing ‘silly’ next on the page. But Dean squints, and tries to see what Cas first wrote. An o and an n, an l and an y. Dean squints more.

Lonely. Cas wrote lonely. Fuck.

 _– when I see someone so… effortless. I don’t think I can ever be effortless, not like I used to be. Everything takes time and work now, and it exhausts me. I would like to think that some day, I can be carefree like those two are. And that some day, I can share the same affection and love with –_ and here Cas has scratched out a name and replaced it with ‘someone’, and fuck it, Dean’s not touching that one with a ten foot pole, _–, that these people do now._

Dean stares at the note. Letter, really. It feels like another letter. And Dean, well. He mostly feels like an idiot.

Cas is still shoving couscous into his mouth like he’d die without it.

It’s – what the fuck is he gonna do about this? Because yeah, so Dean and Cas might be a… _thing_ , maybe, possibly, now. But Dean doesn’t do this. He doesn’t do physical displays of affection in public. He doesn’t do reassurance and Grace hugs and all that shit. He doesn’t want to, and he can’t. He can’t –

But this is Cas. His Cas. And if no one else is here to hug Cas, to give him a semblance of what he once had with his family… then Dean should. At least a little. So he curls his hand around Cas’s slim wrist and squeezes. Hopes it helps. Cas looks up at him, mouth so full with food his cheeks bulge and make him look like a frog, and swallows audibly. He just stares at Dean. Just stares.

Well, okay. Dean’s mostly used to the staring by now. Staring he can handle. Right? So he leans forward to place a brief, light kiss against Cas’s cheek. He fights the urge to look around when he leans back – or better yet, to run out of here – but doesn’t let Cas’s hand go. Dean can do this. He can. Seriously.

Cas blinks, and Dean thinks his cheeks look a little pink again.

Dean pushes the notepad back towards Cas. “You, um,” he says and his voice goes all funny, so he tries again. “You gotta give me some time on that, Cas. This is… kinda new for me.”

Cas’s confused-longing-hopeful-embarrassed face cracks and reveals a big, relieved smile. He signs _okay_ , and Dean actually recognizes the word.

“Okay.” Dean nods. “Right. And now for the serious part.” A flicker of confusion, even doubt, on Cas’s face. “ _Fries_ ,” Dean says with absolute seriousness, and pointedly pops a couple into his mouth. Oh yeah. Is _goooood_.

Cas takes a second before he realizes it’s a joke, but at least he gets it now. He makes a sort of giggle, which is a strange sound because it’s not really a sound at all, but it’s kinda… cute. It’s strange. Strange suits Cas.

Jesus, what kind of drugs are in this hippie food? Dean shovels more fries into his mouth and stares at Cas’s half-empty plate. Cas shifts and his beanbag shuffle-rustles along with him, the ex-angel looking completely at ease with the world. Dean wonders if Cas is faking, or if he’s just better at compartmentalizing than Dean is. He squeezes Cas’s hand once, and Cas’s eyes flicker up to his. He smiles.

Right. Dean should just… ask him another time. When he doesn’t look so (cute) happy.

... Seriously. Stoned fries.

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grass Valley is indeed a real place, though I've taken liberties with it. 'Woodstuck' is my own brainchild.


	13. Do You Think You Will Be Good Enough (To Love Others and Be Loved?)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Where Dean sees Cas’s scars._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As the summary suggests, chapter warning for heavy scarring - and subsequent conflicted feelings and angst.

Dean’s traveling back to the motel room an hour earlier than he’s supposed to. Kathy, one of his co-workers, said she’d lock up for the night so he could get back home earlier. He might’ve… mentioned at some point that he’s got someone waiting for him.

The weird thing, though, Dean muses, is that Kathy’s a cool girl. Like, really nice. And she’s got pretty long legs and small, tight body. Big, green eyes, blond hair, and a real pretty smile. Dean’s caught her staring at his ass a few times now. And instead of asking her out, he… told her he’s got someone home waiting for him.

Weird.

Sam sent him a text half an hour ago; decided to camp out in the library again. Apparently, Stanford still remembers the Sasquatch and his test scores (this fucking kid, ladies and gentlemen), but they’ve gotta make sure he’s hasn’t gone dumb or something after everything that’s happened to him. So he’s gotta take a shitload of tests and stuff, just so he’s eligible for the start of the summer course. If he gets in, he can use that course to get back on track. The University sounded pretty keen on helping Sam, though; especially with him being without his Dad, brother and girlfriend. (Turns out, Dean’s still officially a dead serial killer. So now he’s Sam’s brother Adam whenever he deals with Stanford. It gives him a bad taste in his mouth, but it’s the easiest they can come to the truth without lying too much.)

So Cas should be the only one home now. It’s almost eight in the evening when Dean pulls in on the motel’s parking lot, shutting off his baby and just listening to the silence for a few minutes. No wailing babies. No shouting parents. No customers complaining about stuff he probably _should_ know and give a shit about, but doesn’t. Dean tears off his stupid Walmart t-shirt in the car, because fuck, he just needs to get this shit _off_. He ends up walking up to his room shirtless, goosebumps traveling up his arms from the chilled evening breeze. The door’s locked, which means Cas could be out buying food. Dean was gonna offer to go get some, but it’s not like he’s gonna be disappointed if Cas gets out a little bit. All the guy needs to do is write down the order on his pad and show it to the guys behind the counter – no biggie. Cas has done that a couple of times by himself now. Came back from the Wendy’s up the street two days ago, looking all proud and shit. Dean kinda wanted to pinch his cheeks, just a little.

Or pinch… other stuff.

Dean unlocks the door with great precision and concentration, making sure to focus on that instead of the image of Cas’s perky ass, and walks into their room. The beds are made up, clumsily, which leads him to believe it’s Cas who’s done it, and it smells stuffy in here even if their window’s ajar. The lights are on, and Cas’s jacket hangs neatly over one of the chairs. Dean doesn’t see his shoes. He hopes Cas didn’t go out with just a sweater on – even in May, the evening’s a little too chilled for that. Dean doesn’t want Cas to get sick.

He dumps his discarded t-shirt on the duffel bag beside his bed, before sniffing his armpits. Ugh. Sweat he can handle; sweat and blood and goo came with the old job. But cleaning supplies and that faint whiff of baby puke? Yeah, definitely a no-go. He needs to take a shower. If he’s fast, he might get done before Cas is back.

Except Cas isn’t out getting food. Cas is sort of in the bathroom.

... Cas is sort of naked.

“Shit!” Dean exclaims and means to close his eyes. (Really. He does.) And realizes after a second that he, um, hasn’t.

Cas must have gotten out of the shower a minute before Dean got into the motel room, because he’s still wet all over. He’s got a towel in his hand, clearly in the process of drying his hair, and quickly moves it to cover his crotch when it’s clear that Dean can’t stop staring. Which again, he really should do that soon.

“Um,” Dean says.

Cas doesn’t say anything – and it kind hurts that Dean _still_ half-expects him to – but he doesn’t move, either. He just stands there, hunched and awkward-looking, a few stray droplets of water trailing down his neck and chest.

“I thought you were out,” Dean says when the silence’s well past awkward and the tension has gone from electric to nauseating. It’s not really bad tension, though, more like… blue balls kind of tension.

Suddenly Dean _really_ wishes Cas would put on some clothes.

 _I wasn’t,_ Cas signs with the hand that’s not holding the towel in place.

“Right. You were here. So I should just…” Dean backs up a few steps, so he’s not inside the bathroom anymore. But he can still see Cas, all smooth planes and pale skin and… yeah. Definitely approaching blue balls here. Right. “Sorry,” Dean manages to fumble out. “I’ll just let you get changed.” And _still_ he doesn’t move.

Cas holds his gaze for a few seconds longer, before he sighs and leans down to get his t-shirt.

“Holy shit,” Dean gasps before he can stop himself. He immediately regrets it when Cas’s face shuts down, and the guy himself goes ramrod straight so he can once again hide his back from Dean’s view.

Dean saw Cas’s scars when they were wounds. He’s the one who patched Cas up, fresh and fallen, and changed bandages every day for the first week and a half of Cas’s humanity. But after that, after Cas started to deal, he’d do it himself. And after the wounds closed up completely, Cas hasn’t let him see. He’s always wearing a t-shirt or sweater, even those recent nights when he’s curled up against Dean. He doesn’t change outside the bathroom after showers, and he _never_ lets Dean touch his back without flinching and moving away. And Dean’s okay with that – he can see why a guy would feel iffy and self-conscious about his first set of permanent marks.

Dean just never realized how _much_ there would be of them.

Cas is twitchy and ashamed, his face red and his eyes on the floor. _Go,_ he signs. He looks so small where he stands in the stark bathroom light, looking like he’s a second from curling into a ball on the floor. Dean should go. He should leave him alone.

Instead, he steps back into the bathroom. “Cas,” he murmurs. “Show me.”

Cas shakes his head, wet strands of hair plastered against his forehead. He signs the same two letters over and over again. N. O. N. O. N. O.

Dean walks almost all the way over to Cas, who shuffles backwards until the back of his knees hit the bathtub edge. “Cas?” Dean says, even if it comes out a question. “Please.” He puts his hand on Cas’s free wrist and pulls, gently.

Cas follows. He actually follows. He keeps his towel pressed right where it is, the only thing he has to hide himself from Dean’s gaze, but he shuffles out of the bathroom without a struggle. He still shakes his head feebly, but his eyes are glazed over. Dean doesn’t think he’s here anymore. He’s probably three months back in time, in a very different place than California.

He guides Cas to his bed and sits him down, keeping his eyes on the fallen angel all the while. “Can I see, Cas?” he asks, voice hushed. “Will you let me?”

Cas doesn’t answer; doesn’t nod. But he stops shaking his head and just breathes. His neck is a long, bowed line and his hair’s getting into his eyes. Dean pushes it back, feels how it’s gone wet and cold from the chilled air in the room. He needs to get Cas dressed soon. But first, he needs to _see_.

He slips behind Cas’s back and sits down on the bed, kneeling with his legs on each side of Cas’s ass. They’re not touching, not yet. Dean places a hand on Cas’s shoulder to ground him, and just stares.

Cas’s back… doesn’t look like a back anymore. It’s looks like ex-carnage. The scars cover his whole backside, from the middle of his shoulderblades right down to his hipbones. They are two, almost identical, thick, jagged ridges on each side of Cas’s spine. The skin is raised and flushed, a dark pink that’s almost red, and it looks painful and really fucking sensitive. In the middle of Cas’s back, the two lines (that must once have been where his wings sat, Dean thinks with awe) meet in a large, almost round patch of destroyed and re-healed skin. The overall look of it is like a disfigured H, the scarred ridges looking like branches and roots of a tree, stretching outwards.

It’s… ugly.

“Do they hurt?” Dean whispers, and uses all the self-control he has not to lean forward and touch the scars. Feel the flushed, damp patches of skin. Their color match the hand-print scar on Dean’s shoulder, except Cas’s is darker and newer. Like Dean’s was, right when he was pulled out of Hell. Maybe, in time, Cas’s scars will look healthier too. But Dean knows, looking at the skin that used to hold his angel’s wings and Grace in place, that these scars will never fade away with time.

They’re a part of Cas now, as much as they’d wish them not to be.

Cas nods, once.

“A lot?” Dean murmurs.

 _Dreams_ , Cas signs. His hand is trembling, and his breathing’s fast and sharp. Dean can see his ears are still red with shame.

“They hurt when you have nightmares?” Another nod. “Cas, can I…” Dean lets the sentence trail off.

Cas doesn’t nod. Doesn’t shake his head. Doesn’t move.

So Dean moves his hand from Cas’s shoulder and lets it trail across the darkened ridges. And _jesus_ , Cas’s skin is warm. It’s burning hot, almost feverish against his fingers, and Cas winces. “It hurt?” Dean asks, voice quiet.

Cas shakes his head once, and wow, his breathing’s going out of the window here.

Dean stops his caress – _touching_ , platonic _touching_ – to lean around so he can see Cas’s face. “Cas? You okay, man?”

He’s not. Cas is crying. Big, shiny tears trailing down the tip of his nose, dripping onto the white, fluffy towel he’s clutching so desperately at. His shoulders start to spasm as his breathing hitches, neck so bowed his chin’s nearly touching his chest.

“Cas, hey,” Dean murmurs and moves off the bed, kneeling on the floor so they’re pretty much face to face. Or crotch to face, but whatever. “Hey, what’s up?”

Cas just shakes his head, eyes and mouth pressed tightly shut.

Dean wipes a tear away from the fallen angel’s cheek. “Cas, talk to me.” He tries to catch Cas’s gaze, but the guy keeps his eyes closed. So he grabs his free hand instead, squeezes it tightly. “Sign it to me. Please.”

Cas doesn’t move for a while, his hand a tight fist in Dean’s. Then he spells out one word. _Ugly._

Shit. Right. “Cas…” What he’s planning to say next, he has no idea. But somehow he ends up kissing Cas instead, so that turns out to not be a problem. Sort of.

Cas keeps his eyes closed. But he kisses like Dean’s his source of air, sharp, desperate puffs of breath against Dean’s mouth every time they pull apart for a short moment. Dean has to put his hands on Cas’s knees not to lose his balance, and Cas flinches again, but he doesn’t pull back so Dean takes it as a good sign.

“Okay. Okay. Cas?” Dean leans back enough that Cas has to open his eyes and look at him. “This… that – that. It’s not a big deal. I mean, to you, it probably is, and I get that. I totally do. But it doesn’t make you less b– it doesn’t make you ugly. Okay? It just – it doesn’t.” He swipes his thumb across Cas’s cheekbone, notices that there’s a single freckle there that didn’t use to exist. “It’s just a scar, Cas. It’s not… you.”

Cas’s eyelashes are clumped together and dark against his pale skin, his eyes unfathomable in that angel way of his. He signs without looking away from Dean. _Wings._ He clenches his fist once. _No wings._ Clenches it again. _Angel._ Clench. _No one._ He looks away again, down at Dean’s hand on his knee. _Hurts._

And it dawns on Dean that Cas isn’t talking about physical pain this time. Cas is shaking again, and Dean really doesn’t know what else to say, because… because _of course_ Cas misses his wings. His Grace. Those scars are like ugly, big, _everlasting_ reminders of what he once was, and what he isn’t anymore. And Dean doesn’t know how that feels. How can he? He’s just a puny little human.

“I’m sorry,” Dean says quietly. “I’m so sorry.”

Cas just trembles, shivers, his eyes glued to his towel.

“C’mon. We gotta get you to bed – you’re cold.” He speaks softly and backs off, but not so far that he’s not still planted in Cas’s personal space. He gets the guy under the sheets – the towel ends up on the floor, as Cas seems to have forgotten his own issues with nakedness for the moment – and covers Cas with them, making sure he won’t get cold. Dean strips down to his boxer-briefs, hanging the wet towel over the other chair in the room, but hesitates by Cas’s bed. He doesn’t wanna crowd him. “Cas?”

Cas turns a little, curled up in a fetal position. He just looks at Dean.

“Do you want me to…”

Cas nods and closes his eyes. Dean climbs in beside him, keeps a bit of distance between them. Wanna give him a warning first. “Cas, turn to your side.” Cas turns towards him. “No, the other way. With your back against me.”

Cas frowns and looks anxious for a second, but Dean whispers “please,” and he does what he’s told. Dean shifts closer, draping himself over Cas’s smaller form, until he can feel the heated skin of Cas’s scars all along his chest and stomach. He almost hisses out loud, the temperature is so palpable. Cas stays rigid against him, and Dean nuzzles his neck to see if that helps. He decides it does, when he feels the tension gradually bleeding out Cas’s body. He still hasn’t stopped crying; not completely.

That’s… that’s fine. Dean can deal. “You think you can sleep, Cas?” he murmurs against Cas’s hair, which smells like that coconut shampoo Dean loves so much, and Cas gives a half-shrug. Dean feels the scars shift all along his back at the movement.

One of his hands creep up from the covers and into Dean’s limited view. _Sing?_ Even as fingerspelling, it sounds (looks?) like a question.

Dean chuckles. “Sure, Cas. Sure.”

It takes a long time for Cas to fall asleep. But somewhere after half an hour, Cas’s breathing is deep and slow. His body’s slack now, loose and limp, and Dean can trace the rootlike scars with rough fingertips without flinches from the smaller man.

“ _’Cause maybe_ ," Dean sings, writing Cas’s name with his finger on the angel’s back, " _You’re gonna be the one who saves me._ ” He’s not gonna let himself freak out about this. He’s had his freak-outs; now it’s Cas’s turn. It’s only fair. “ _And after all,_ ” and he can’t help but smile against Cas’s curls, “ _you’re my wonderwall._ ”

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song quote is from 'Wonderwall', by Oasis.


	14. One-Track Mind, One-Track Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Where Sam is freaking out and Dean isn’t, and Dean’s wondering when exactly he stopped freaking out about this._

The alarm clock goes off at little over seven in the morning. Dean has to be at work in an hour. He thinks of his fresh, new eight-hour shift and groans. Closes his eyes and pretends for a few minutes more.

Cas is a warm presence against and on him, still asleep. He has turned around sometime during the night, his face squished into the dip of Dean’s collarbone. Dean seriously doubts it can be very comfortable, after all, Cas is resting on _bone_ , but the ex-angel doesn’t seem to mind. Dean trails his free arm – the one not trapped under Cas’s lax form – up and into Cas’s sweaty hair. He needs to comb it; it’s getting so messy it’s almost beyond help. A long tuft of hair rests against Cas’s closed eyelid, and Dean carefully brushes it away. Cas shifts just barely, pressing into the contact for a moment before he goes still again.

It’s a weird thing, sharing a bed with someone. Especially waking up the next morning and knowing that this someone isn’t gonna disappear – that Dean’s not gonna drive off to another town, another willing body. It’s even weirder when he knows that they haven’t even had sex yet, and he still feels something disturbingly like afterglow every time he wakes up and Cas is snuffling into his neck. He turns a little until he’s lying on his back, so his morning wood doesn’t poke Cas in the side. Dean closes his eyes and sighs. He doesn’t know what to do with that. There’s always the obvious, but _no_. Just – no. This is still too new to Cas; hell, it’s only yesterday he fnally allowed Dean to see – to touch – his scars. Dean’s not gonna put pressure on the guy; not now, not ever.

Dean doesn’t know when his libido overruled his inner homophobe, but apparently it’s happened.

He opens his eyes and pulls down the sheets just slightly. Cas is curled up on his side, naked body pressed against Dean’s side (and Dean’s not gonna think about that soft _something_ resting against his hip, he’s just not), and Dean can just barely see the tips of the scars from where he’s lying. He moves his hand to rest it against the warm, too-smooth skin, feeling a small, fluttery satisfaction when Cas doesn’t seem to notice or mind. He has to get up soon – has to be out of here by seven thirty. But he gives himself another couple of minutes just watching Cas; Cas, who looks so peaceful and happy and safe all curled around Dean like this.

It’s an oddly comforting thought.

Dean gives himself five more minutes before he really has to get up. As much as he hates this job – and he really, really hates this job – it’s the only thing keeping them from ending up on the street right now. So he carefully untangles himself from Cas, who flinches and wakes up with a panicky gasp.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Dean says and smiles reassuringly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. I have to get up for work.”

There’s a second when Cas just stares at him with wild eyes, like he’s forgotten who Dean is – but then realization hits him and the tension dissipates. He sighs and lies back down, but curls his hand around Dean’s and squeezes.

“You can go back to sleep, Cas,” Dean murmurs. “Do whatever you feel like doing later today. Sam’s probably gonna be at the library all day, and I’ll be home at five-ish.”

Cas nods and gives him a smile. It’s uncertain, but genuine. _Book_ , he signs.

“You going to the library up the street? Awesome.” Truth be told, it’s not really a library – the Student Library, where Sam is now, is the big library around here. But there’s a tiny library next to the Wendy’s, where the local schoolkids come to loan books. Cas will probably like it there – it’s tiny, not a lot of people, and filled with old, musty books.

Cas squirms himself further under the blankets and smiles. He still hasn’t let go of Dean’s hand.

“Which reminds me,” Dean says and pretends not to be distracted at how close his hand is to Cas’s nipple, red and pebbled against the chilly morning air. “I’mma buy you a phone today. I realize you can’t exactly _call_ , but we can text you and – it’s just easier that way.” He doesn’t say _I need to know you’re safe while I’m gone_ , but the way Cas’s eyes soften tells Dean he might as well have blurted it out. “Um, yeah, anyway… I should probably get going.”

Cas lets his hand go, reluctantly, and Dean (not so) accidentally brushes his thumb over the small nub. Cas twitches, the movement so small Dean would have missed if he wasn’t paying attention, and Cas stares up at him with a painfully conflicted, _complicated_ look. Dean gets off the bed mighty fast and hopes Cas can’t see how his boxers are tented. He doesn’t have time to take care of this before he’s got to go – and the thought of Cas lying here, listening while Dean jerks off in the shower makes Dean go both cold and warm inside – so he just pulls on a pair of jeans and wills it to _go away_. It doesn’t listen, but then again, it rarely does. Dean curses and hopes it’s a chilled morning outside.

He pulls on the same t-shirt; doesn’t have a spare one yet. It still smells of baby puke, and he realizes that he never got to take that shower. Fuck it. Long as they don’t fire him, he doesn’t much care how he looks and acts on the job. This is only until he gets another job, and hopefully one that doesn’t involve quite so many asshole customers.

“Have a nice sleep, Cas,” Dean says when he’s all set, aiming at grin at the bed. Cas waves at him and squirms in his bed, taking full advantage of the extra space. He lets out a long, slow exhale, and Dean suddenly finds it almost impossible not to march right back and slide in beside his fallen angel. Let Cas tangle their legs together, breathe deep and nice and slow, sign words Dean hasn’t yet learned against his warmed skin. With a ridiculous amount of effort, he turns and walks out of the room. He locks after himself, so Cas won’t have to get up from the bed before he wants to.

Dean pushes away thoughts on where he’s going, instead thinking about Cas while he drives. Though that one’s a slippery slope, because he can still remember the feel of Cas’s hardened nipple against the pad of his thumb, and – yeah, no. Sammy. Let’s think about Sam instead.

In the end, Dean calls his brother. “You up yet, Sasquatch?”

“I want to die,” Sam groans into the phone. He sounds so goddamn exhausted.

“Don’t worry, Sam. You’ll knock’em dead.”

“ I have two tests today, Dean,” and woah, rapidly approaching yelling here, Sammy, “one in less than three hours! And I haven’t studied enough for them! Oh God, I’m gonna fail. I’m gonna fail and they’re gonna kick me out of here.”

Dean can’t help but chuckle. “Aw, c’mon, Sam. You’ve lived in the library for five days now. You really tellin’ me you haven’t studied?”

“Not _enough_!” Sam snaps, before his voice lowers. “Besides, it’s kinda… hard to concentrate.”

“How so?”

“Lucifer. He… he won’t stop singing the Banana Splits Song,” Sam whispers, and sounds a little heartbroken.

Dean feels bad for laughing. Really, he does.

“Goddammit, Dean! It’s not funny! This is my _future_ on stake here!”

“I know, I’m sorry,” Dean manages to choke out between bouts of inappropriate laughter. “I just – I’m sorry.”

“What,” Sam mutters, and Dean can see his pouty bitchface all the way from here.

“I just – it’s still a little weird that our biggest concern here is your hallucination messing up your studies,” Dean says, finally calming down a little. “Not, you know, if the world’s ending. Or if someone broke your brain.”

Sam goes quiet at that. “Yeah,” he finally sighs, and sounds a little calmer. “It’s weird.”

They listen to each other’s breaths for a few minutes while Dean drives. “Better?” Dean asks.

“Yeah. Thanks, Dean.”

“You’re welcome, Betty.”

A weak snort. “Fuck you.” Sam hangs up, and Dean grins. His work is done here for now.

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everstar3 was kind enough to write a time stamp from Cas's POV, and it takes place between chapters 13 and 14 of The Way Home. Please go and [read it](http://starryfic.livejournal.com/1103.html). :)


	15. Savor the Taste of Fabricated Wealth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Where Sam is tired, Dean has blue balls, and Cas owns._

By the time Dean is finished with his shift, a new, fresh, extra t-shirt in his hand and his car keys in the other, it’s almost five in the afternoon. He tries to call Sam on the way home and Sam doesn’t answer, which is probably a good thing. Dean’s got a spanking new phone, still in its unopened little box, sitting in the shotgun seat. It’s got a touch pad, because Dean figures Cas is good with his hands and would like to try that out. He’s got time to learn how to work it – and if he doesn’t like it, Dean will just get him another one. No big deal. It’s small and flat and blue and Dean’s strangely nervous about whether Cas will like it or not.

It’s not like it’s a gift or anything.

He drives by the Wendy’s right up the street and picks up some food – he hasn’t eaten lunch, and he’s too hungry to wait for dinner. Even if Cas or Sam aren’t hungry, he’ll just eat it all alone. There’s light on in the room when Dean pulls up to their motel, and the door’s unlocked. “Hello?”

Cas sits on his (their) bed, wearing a pair of jeans Dean could _swear_ are his, signing to himself. There are at least ten books lying casually on the bedspread next to him. He looks up when Dean enters, smiles, does a little handwave, and puts a finger to his lips before nodding to his left.

Sam’s on his own bed in the corner, sprawled on top of the sheets, out cold. He’s even snoring quietly, probably due to the uncomfortable position, and his face looks dagged and pale even in sleep.

 _Tests,_ Cas signs. _Tired._

Dean nods. “He told me on the phone this morning,” he says, voice hushed so they won’t wake the Sasquatch. If he knows Sam right, he’s probably been studying every damn minute he’s not actually been taking those tests, and he deserves all the respite he can have. Plus, it’s pretty clear that there are no Lucifer, dreams or memories plaguing Sam’s mind at the moment, which is still a rare thing. So he kicks his shoes off and places the food cartons on the bed in front of Cas.

“I need a shower,” Dean murmurs. “Feel free to eat if you’re hungry.”

 _I’ll wait,_ Cas replies with a patient smile. It occurs to Dean that he sees this a lot nowadays – Cas smiling. When Cas was an angel, Dean saw him smiling something like four times over those two years they spent saving the world. And now, Cas’s smile is usually one of the first things that greet him in the morning.

He shuts the bathroom behind himself and strips out of his dirty, smelly clothes as fast as he can, kicking them into a corner as soon as he’s naked. The water’s scolding hot against his back, and he groans quietly into the stream as he lets it wash over his body and head. Seems Cas likes his showers even hotter than Dean does.

Hot. Right.

He soaps himself in quick, rough movements and tries not to think. But Cas is all that’s been on his mind since morning, and the memory of this morning is something that still hasn’t quite let go. Sam’s sleeping, and Cas is… preoccupied. Dean doesn’t know when he’ll get another chance like this – it’s not like he can start taking showers three – four tmes a day, either. Gotta make the best out of the situation.

He works himself fast, rough strokes just a little harder than he likes, trying to get off as fast and quietly as possible. Just so he can concentrate when in the same room as Cas. Dean tries to keep his mind blank as he climbs his way towards empty release. It doesn’t quite work; a few images of Cas sneak in there, images Dean’s mind helpfully twist to suit his immediate needs. Cas on a bed, only a sheet covering him, arching into Dean’s touch, uttering a choked moan –

Dean grits his teeth together as he comes, the evidence soon washed away from his fingers and the tile wall. He stays still, the still-hot water thundering against his scalp, distracting his ears from the sharp, quiet pants he’s uttering. He cleans himself off and gets out of the shower, drying himself with a white, worn towel. He doesn’t feel better, per se, but his body’s looser and his head clear. Mostly.

He’s walking back out, towel around his waist and a hand scratching at his neck, when he suddenly remembers something about his day-dream images. Cas’s moans. That rough, deep sound.

… right.

Cas is reading in one of his books now, and Dean can’t look at him. He can’t ask, can’t think, can’t imagine what it would be like to have sex with Cas now. How… _quiet_ it would have to be. The thought just makes Dean want to punch something. Preferably himself.

He pulls out a clean Metallica t-shirt from his duffel bag, a pair of briefs and a pair of jeans, and puts on the briefs without (hopefully) flashing Cas in the process. When he’s all dressed, he dumps down on the end of Cas’s bed and grabs one of the three paper bags. Cas puts his book down next to him, the laptop on the floor, and grabs a bag of his own. He shuffles closer to Dean and grins when he sees that Dean got him a turkey burger. For some reason, Cas isn’t too fond of red meat, Dean’s noticed.

Sam’s still asleep on his bed, and he doesn’t seem to have moved at all since Dean went into the shower. Dean’s just about to ask Cas if they’re sure the sasquatch is still alive, when Sam inhales sharply and squirms. He mumbles something in his sleep, something that might or might not be a word, and turns to his side. The bedsprings cry out.

When Dean looks back, Cas is staring at Sam with a fond look on his face. “What?” Dean says, a smile playing at his lips. Cas starts a little and looks down, as if he’s embarrassed. He waves his hand dismissively.

“Nah, nah,” Dean says and grins. “I saw that. What was that?”

Cas glances over at Sam again, and his cheeks grow a little pink. He finds his notepad on the table and scribbles. _He’s so tired._

“Well, yeah,” Dean says slowly. “He’s been up all night studying. And he had two exams today. ‘Course he is.”

Cas shrugs and scribbles on. _I’m proud of him. I know he’ll make it. He’s too stubborn not to._ He grins. _True Winchester._

Dean chuckles, even as a sickeningly warm feeling starts spreading throughout his entire body, making him feel like he’s lit up by tiny sparkles. “Kid’s a Winchester all the way.”

Cas nods, eyes twinkling, before signing _you both are_.

Dean snorts. “Yeah, well. Y’know.” He licks his lips.

Cas’s gaze flickers down to Dean’s lips, and he blinks. The smile on his face changes into something hesitant, almost nervous, and he stretches out a hand. Dean holds very still, his heart skipping a beat when Cas’s fingers curl into his t-shirt and tugs very, very gently. It’s the first time Cas has really shown initiative, and it takes Dean a little by surprise – but he goes with it, lets Cas pull him close. It’s not like Sam’s awake to see them anyway, and if he’s got to be honest, Cas taking initiative like this is… surprisingly hot.

Cas tilts his head a little to the left, and it’s a perfect fit. Cas is a _good_ kisser, which should maybe not surprise Dean as much as it does. But apart from those reassuring kisses at night after a nightmare, they really don’t… do this a lot. Which strikes Dean as odd now, because this is _awesome_. Cas is soft and warm and tastes like turkey burger, and his hair’s all soft between Dean’s fingers (when did he put his hand there?). Cas’s hand is still fisted in his t-shirt, except Cas’s other hand seems to be creeping up to cup Dean’s face and whoa, hey, hands everywhere right now.

He pulls back, not unkindly, and opens his eyes to see Cas blink sluggishly at him. “Wouldn’t wanna take it too far with Sammy in the room,” Dean jokes, trying to break the tension, which fails miserably when Cas’s face heats up and he bites his lip. “Umm.” Okay, staring. Dean’s staring now. He needs to… stop doing that.

Stop staring. Seriously.

It’s Cas who looks away frist, and they both take a huge bite of their own burger just so they won’t have to talk. The tension and awkward silence stays and Dean resists the urge to squirm where he sits.

“Nguh,” Sam mumbles from his bed and twitches.

“What’s that, Sammy?” Dean says.

Sam utters a choked-off word that could be “Tequila!” and sits up abruptly, eyes wide and bleary. He looks over at them, before his posture relaxes and he drags a hand across his face. His hair’s all over the place and there are crinkles on his face after the pillow.

“Tequila?” Dean asks.

“You don’t wanna know,” Sam mutters and yawns. “How long was I out?”

Cas shows him four fingers.

“Four hours – are you kidding me?” Sam jumps off the bed as if burned. “Shit, I gotta study!”

“Sam, calm down. You’re exhausted – come eat.” Dean nods at the third, unopened paper bag on the bed.

“No, I should get back to the library,” Sam sighs and pulls on his jacket. “I’ve still got three exams before Friday.”

“Sam,” Dean sighs. “Chill. Please.”

“No, I gotta–”

Cas _claps his hands_. Sam goes quiet immediately and both Winchesters turn to him. Cas’s smile is gone, replaced by a stern look that’s scarily close to his ‘I can throw you back into Hell’ look. _SIT._ He points at Sam’s bed.

Sam blinks, blinks again, and shuffles over to his bed. He sits down quietly. “I really should study,” he says meekly. Dean tries really, really hard not to laugh.

Cas hands him the paper bag, and Sam makes a bitchface at him before tentatively grabbing the bag. He pulls out his hamburger (no garden salad for Sammy tonight, oh no) and sighs deeply.

Cas scribbles something down in his notepad. _Your life is so hard._

Dean cackles and Sam’s face crumbles into a small smile. “You’re bossy,” Sam says without heat.

“Cas is _awesome_ ,” Dean says. “Now eat up.”

Sam mutters something under his breath, but starts eating. Cas grins like he just won everything ever, and Dean quashes the urge to hug the shit out of the guy. Also, if he found Cas pulling his shirt hot, that’s _nothing_ against that stare. Wow.

“How’s your d’y?” Sam mumbles around his burger. He’s still hunched in on himself a little, like a scolded child, but his eyes are brighter than just a few minutes before.

“I’d rather just forget mine,” Dean mutters, but Cas tells Sam about his day. It’s slow, and a confusing mix between fingerspelling and ASL, and Dean only gets half of it. But he does get the gist – library and a very nice librarian, and something about a book Castiel _loves_. Cas does that thing where his ASL goes out the window because of his excitement, but neither of the brothers call him on it because it’s so nice to see Cas like this. He’s like a kid.

Dean wonders why pretty much everything Cas does these days makes him want to hug the guy.

Sam stays quiet for the rest of his burger, but checks his watch when he crumbles the paper in his hand. “I really should get back to the library, though. And please don’t glare more, Cas,” he adds quickly.

“Dude,” Dean sighs. “It’s like eight already.”

“The library’s open twenty-four hours at this time of the year,” Sam says and gets off the bed – hesitantly, while glancing in Cas’s direction. He’s so whipped. “Exam time.”

“You mean you’re not the only one who goes crazy like this?” Dean asks.

“I’m not _crazy_ ,” Sam bitches. “This is important stuff!” His voice is taking on that slightly off-key, panicky tone again, and Cas pads over to the giant.

 _I know,_ Cas signs and wraps his arms around Sam without further ado.

Dean snorts. “For real, though, Sam. You need to sleep. Preferably in a bed, and not with your face planted in an encyclopaedia.”

Sam blinks. “I didn’t know you knew that word.”

“Fuck you.”

Sam and Cas chuckles at the exact same time, which is kind of a scary sight. “I’ve been sleeping for four hours; I’m good for a while longer,” Sam sighs.

 _You sure?_ Cas is still hugging Sam. Or half-hugging, seeing as he’s using one of his hands to sign. Sam’s hugging him back, a little awkwardly, and the two of them really is a ridiculous sight.

“Yeah. I’ve got another exam tomorrow at eight, so it’s better if I stay over there anyway. The buses only go every hour in the morning.”

“You want me to drive you?” Dean asks, getting up from the bed.

“No, that’s okay–”

Cas punches Sam on the chest and stares at him.

“Sure,” Sam says. “I’d love that.”

Cas beams.

Dean’s boyfriend _owns_.

~*~


	16. And I Don’t Know Who I Wanna Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Where Sam and Dean talk, and everything gets complicated (again.)_

The two of them are quiet in the car. Dean drums his fingers against the steering wheel and Sam stares out of the side window, and there’s a good silence here. It’s… good. It’s just good.

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

Sam takes a sharp breath. “If I… if this whole thing works out…”

Dean waits, but Sam hesitates. “Yeeeah?”

“What are we gonna do?”

Dean glances at his brother. “What do you mean?”

“Well, if I get accepted, I can move into a room on campus – hopefully. I mean, I don’t wanna assume anything –”

“ _Point_ , Sammy.”

“Anyway,” Sam blurts, “what I mean is – like, where are you guys gonna live? Are you gonna stay in a motel room forever?”

Dean blinks. “Um. I don’t know.” Truth be told, he hasn’t thought that far. Right now, it’s all about Sam getting back to his studies, Dean getting enough money for them to live, and Cas just… getting better. And that plan is going perfectly smooth, okay? More stuff is just… confusing.

Sam’s still staring, though. “Dean.”

“I don’t know, Sam!”

Sam _laughs_ , the little bitch. “Dean, okay, I realize this is all probably freaking you out, but I’m just saying that it’s something you should think about. I mean, no matter what happens, we can’t stay in that motel room forever.”

“Yeah, no,” Dean says and tries to sound casual. “Of course we can’t.” He can feel Sam’s eyes on him, and tries a laugh on for size. It does not fit. “That’s ludicrous.”

Sam sighs. “You’re freaking out. I’m sorry I brought it up.”

“No, no! I’m fine! I’m fine. I’m just – I’m totally fine. I’m fine.” Dean shuts up because he doesn’t think he’s fine. Things seem just a little too bright and fast right now. Just the thought of staying in one place forever, getting an apartment, or – God help it – a _house_ , it just – yeah, no. Okay. Breathe.

“Dean? You okay?” Sam’s hand is on his shoulder.

“I’m fine,” Dean wheezes.

“Look, forget I said anything,” Sam tries, and he’s got that puppy-voice of his.

“No, I just – I’ll give it some thought, okay?” Dean risks a glance and a smile at his brother and sees that Sam is not convinced. “It’s just… it’s different, okay? It’s just different.”

“Different doesn’t mean bad,” Sam says in this quiet voice that begs him to be reasonable and Sam, please, not now.

“No, I know. I know. I’m fine.”

“I mean, it could be fun. Me on campus, you and Cas in a small apartment… right?”

 _Me and Cas._ “Um, yeah. Fun. Me and – yeah. Right.”

“Okay, I’m shutting up now.” Sam sits back and folds his arms across his chest. “I’m sorry I sprung it on you.”

“I’m fine,” Dean tries yet again.

“You’re a shit liar.”

“You’re a… girl.”

Sam doesn’t even bother to acknowledge that one. Dean’s a little ashamed how lame of an insult that was, but – this is completely new information. Okay, so it isn’t, but it’s not something he’s had to _acknowledge_ before. Getting an apartment, getting a full-time job, settling down… with Cas. It just – it makes Dean’s skin itch and his throat go tight, like a bad allergy reaction.

They pull up outside the Stanford Student Library, but Sam doesn’t get out. He just sits there, staring at Dean, and Dean stares out of the window and _not_ at Sam.

“Dean?”

He doesn’t answer.

“Dean? Did I break you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He still doesn’t look at his brother.

Sam sighs, and the hand is back on Dean’s shoulder, squeezing. “Okay, I dunno if it helps, but I think you’re doing a great job with all this.”

“Sam, c’mon. It’s not saving the world. It’s not a biggie.” He feels Sam’s smile even if he doesn’t see it.

“I know, but… this is something we’ve never done before. We’ve never played house. Or, at least not together.”

Dean has to smile a little at that. “Right. Never tried that.”

“And…” But Sam trails off.

“And what?” Dean asks.

“Well, we’ve – you’ve – got Cas. That’s – that’s new.”

The silence gets good and awkward before Dean blurts out “okay, go work now” and Sam goes “yeah okay bye” and shoots out like his ass is on fire. Dean starts up his baby and drives off, about one thousand different thoughts and images pounding against his skull. They swirl around without making sense – actually, they just make him a little nauseous. There’s a part of him – a big, familiar part – that wants to leave. Just drive his baby out of the state, away from this life that he doesn’t know what the fuck to do with, and go back to hunting.

But he knows that he won’t. Knows that he’s already in too deep. He feels like Alice in Wonderland, like he somehow toppled down into the rabbit hole without even realizing it. And now… well, now there’s nothing for him to do but fall.

~*~


	17. You Don’t Always Have to Be On Top

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Where Dean is scared and Cas is scared, and that somehow works out._

He drives back to the motel, parks, and walks back into their room and Cas, who’s once again reading his book. Squinting at the cover, Dean reads the title. ‘All the Blood is Red’. “Sounds like a fun book,” Dean points out, and his voice is a little off-key.

Cas looks up and smiles, but his smile flickers and turns into a worried frown. _What wrong?_

“Nothing,” Dean says and tries for a smile. “It’s…nothing.”

Cas puts down the book, seemingly deep in thought, and for a moment he seems almost conflicted. Then he gets off and shuffles over to him. He doesn’t sign anything, just… puts a hand on Dean’s cheek. One side of his mouth turns up into a crooked smile, and his eyes sparkle like he knows _exactly_ what Dean’s thinking about and doesn’t worry at all, and it’s a heady thought and makes Dean want to freak out a little, until he remembers that he’s already pretty freaked out.

“I just,” he gets out, but nothing more comes.

Cas nods and kisses him. Just a soft, quiet press of lips, but the hand on his cheek moves to settle against his neck, and Cas steps closer until it’s so easy for Dean to pull him in, he just can’t help but do exactly that. Cas is only wearing a t-shirt, so his arms are a little cold, and it feels natural for Dean to skim his hands down them. Cas has goosebumps and it’s a thought that makes him smile, and Cas relaxes at that. He kisses the corner of Dean’s mouth, his cheekbone, his temple, and Dean doesn’t realize he’s leaning into the touches until he can feel Cas’s back swaying.

“What, uh… what’cha doing, Cas?” Dean murmurs when he pulls back a little – enough that Cas isn’t in danger of toppling backwards.

 _Kiss_ , Cas signs and tilts his head, as if it’s a question. _Nice._

“Um, yeah. That’s uh, kinda the point, Cas.”

Cas nods, brows furrowed like he’s deep in thought, and presses forward again. This time, there’s nothing chaste about the kiss. This is all tongue and lips and _Cas_ and Dean’s taken by surprise by it – so much he actually makes a small sound in the back of his throat. Cas seems to like that. A lot.

And this is… this is nice. It’s not familiar, but it’s kind of safe. It’s nice, and it’s Cas, and –

Oh. Okay, there’s Cas alright. Dean practically jumps backwards – only to have his back connect with the motel door. “Whoa! Okay.”

Cas blinks at him and Dean really, really doesn’t want to look down at the guy’s crotch… but he kind of does. Cas notices, of course. He steps away, arms falling to his sides, but he doesn’t blush. Doesn’t hunch. Doesn’t… hide. Just looks at Dean with that angel look he used to have – the one Dean had quickly dubbed the Spock Look.

“We should, yeah, so,” Dean blurts and crosses his arms because. And Cas just sighs and shuffles back to his bed, climbing onto it in a decisively unsexy manner, and settles against his pillows. Dean stays right where he is, pressed up against the door like a trapped animal.

Cas lies back against his propped up pillow, his legs sprawled. He picks up ‘All the Blood is Red’ again. He doesn’t look at Dean, and he seems casual, but Dean can still see the faint outline of a bulge on the front of his (Dean’s) jeans. It’s a little hard to stop staring at that bulge.

“I’m sorry,” Dean manages, and sneaks over to his own bed. He doesn’t trust himself to lie in Cas’s bed tonight, not after this brief – whatever the hell this was. Is.

Cas looks up at him. _Why?_

“Why? Why I’m… sorry?”

He nods.

“Because I – because this – I don’t fucking know, okay? I just am.” He tears off his t-shirt like it represents everything he just potentially fucked up, and Dean turns his back on the angel to tug off his socks and jeans. This will all be better if they just sleep on it. Right? Right.

Something hard hits his shoulder, and he starts. “Hey!” He turns to rub at the sore spot, and the book Cas was reading is now lying on his bed, all innocent-like. “What?”

Cas points an accusing finger at him from the other bed, gaze unwavering and face set in a scowl. _Scared._

“I’m not scared!” Dean argues. Cas fucking _arches an eyebrow_. When did he learn that? “I’m not!”

_Why scared._

“I’m – I just – I didn’t mean for that to happen, okay? What with the whole… thing. And stuff.” Jesus, he is not good with words today. He should just shut the fuck up and go to sleep before he can make it worse.

Cas looks thoroughly confused. _Stuff?_

Oh God, do they really have to do this? And _now_? But Cas is tilting his head, and that curious look is slowly being replaced by that terrible, blank look that Dean has dubbed ‘Rejection’ and Dean can’t. He can’t do that to Cas again. “This is all so fucking new to you, Cas. I don’t wanna… push. Or whatever.”

Cas blinks and tilts his head further. If he tilts it more, it might actually be damaging for his neck, Dean thinks idly. “I’m just saying – I’m fine with just kissing, y’know? Like, I don’t need anything more. It’s all good.” He even shows both his hands just so Cas can see how okay this really is, even if that shower earlier might as well never have happened. Dean’s glad he left his pants on for this, even if him being shirtless does bring a certain awkwardness to the situation.

Cas frowns until Dean’s starting to think he’ll get stuck that way. Then he sighs and picks up all his books. Puts them in neat little piles on his bedside table, in alphabetical order, and takes off his socks without looking at Dean. Dean, on his side, looks away when Cas starts fiddling with his belt. Cas isn’t normally this unreserved when getting undressed, but it’s not like Dean’s gonna scold him or anything. He’ll just… not look. And get out of these jeans, so he can get under the sheets into relative safety.

By the time he’s in bed, Cas is down to wearing his sleeping t-shirt (which also used to be Dean’s) and his boxers. They’re still tented slightly, Dean notices. Cas sits on the bed, curled in on himself, looking contemplative but not defensive. He’s drawn his knee up to rest his chin against it, and is currently staring at the flowery wall pattern (lilies, fucking lilies) like it hides the secret to all of this. He turns his head to look right at Dean, and mouths his name – a sharp, sudden twitch of his lips, and a hint of a pink tongue.

“Yeah, Cas?”

One hand. _I._ That’s the only letter.

“You… what?” When Cas just frowns, Dean dares to smile a little. “You’ve gotta give me a little more than that, buddy.”

Cas huffs and tries again. _I want._ He sits back at that, face clearing, like he’s really pleased with himself.

Dean feels bad about the fact that he doesn’t get it. “You want what?”

Cas’s face actually falls a little at that, and he resorts to vague hand gestures. Big, round, meaningless. _Want_ , Cas tries again.

Dean’s about to ask him yet again when it occurs to him that Cas might not _know_ what he wants. If it’s a feeling thing, it’s new to Cas. No wonder he’s having difficulty explaining it. Dean sits up a little. “Hey. Want what, buddy?” It’s not so much a question now as it is a quiet murmur.

Cas bites his lip and lets his arms drop. Then he gets off the bed to climb onto Dean’s. “Hey, hey, whoa!” Dean says and scoots to the side as much as he can; until he’s almost falling off the edge of the bed. “What are you doing there, Cas?”

Cas stretches out a hand, slowly, gaze locked with Dean’s. He touches Dean’s cheek, jaw, neck. His hand trails down to his collarbone, chest, upper arm. Finally, Cas places it right on top of Dean’s heart and lets it linger there, using his free hand to fingerspell. _Want._

Dean swallows. “Cas, man… I dunno if you wanna do that.” Because Cas is really, painfully close right now, and even with the sheets between them, Dean can feel his warmth and Cas is so pale against the blue sheets and Dean knows that if they start – if they do this, he might not be able to stop.

And that fucking _terrifies_ him.

 _Love_ , Cas signs and taps his index finger against Dean’s ribcage once. _Please?_

“No, Cas, I – this isn’t,” Dean starts and he has no idea where that sentence is gonna end, but it’s nowhere good and in the end he can’t say it. But Cas just said _love_ and that’s too much, too soon, and Dean just fucking _can’t_ –

Cas shushes him. Actually _shushes_. It’s a quiet sound, more of a quiet, soothing hiss than anything else, but it’s enough to still the chaos inside Dean’s head for one second. _Please_ , Cas mouths and gives him a short peck on his lips. Just one. Doesn’t do anything more than that. Just watches Dean, waiting for a sign of approval. Or rejection.

And out of those two, Dean has only one choice. So he takes a deep breath and pulls away the sheets as far as they go. “Okay. Okay, Cas.”

Cas’s smile is the sun, in all its clichéd, awesome glory. He squirms under the sheets and presses up against against Dean’s form immediately, all sharp angles and soft wanting. The fingers tracing Dean’s chest are curious, but tentative. Like he’s not yet sure if he’s allowed to do this. Dean pulls him closer and Cas rests his head against Dean’s chest. Probably to listen to his heartbeat, Dean reckons, and traces his fingernails up and down Cas’s arms. When Cas looks up and their lips nearly collide, it’s easy to dip in and lick the last traces of taste out of Cas’s mouth, until all that remains is _DeanandCas_. Cas makes a soft sigh in return. His hands grow bolder and travel further down, one dipping just barely into his navel, and Dean squirms. When Cas looks mildly alarmed, Dean chuckles. “Ticklish.”

The smile Cas gives him is a secret one, and his fingers continue their exploration. That’s what this is, Dean realizes – Cas doesn’t seem to have an overall goal with what he’s doing. He’s simply mapping out Dean’s skin with his hands, whispering the only way he knows how now. Tracing the jut of a hipbone, the dip between his ribs, the long, jagged scar under his right armpit. Dean lets him – lies back and gives Cas room to wander with both his eyes, lips and hands. Cas’s cock is a hard line against his hip, but not an insistent one. And right now, like this, Cas doesn’t seem to remember it at all. Dean has a little more trouble forgetting his mirrored hard-on, but he doesn’t move other than to card his hand through Cas’s messy curls. Doesn’t give himself permission to do more. Cas’s eyes are clear and so blue in the half-dark of the room that they almost seem unreal, and they flicker up to catch Dean’s gaze every few seconds. Gauging his reaction.

It feels a little like he’s being experimented on, and Dean’s surprised to find that besides the constant fear that this is somehow all wrong, he doesn’t really mind Cas’s experiments.

Cas drags his hand across Dean’s chest, and carefully rubs a nipple once with the pad off his thumb. Dean hisses, caught by surprise, and is reminded by this morning. When he finds Cas looking at him, curiosity and something like glee on his face, Dean arches an eyebrow.

Cas does it again. And again, until Dean’s nipple is a hard, little nub against Cas’s thumb, and the ex-angel is staring intently down at it. Dean’s torn between speaking or just waiting, starting to get a little self-conscious what with all of the angel-gazing, when Cas leans down and blows gently. Dean hisses again at the small puff of hot air on the sensitive skin, and he knows he’s getting goosebumps. Cas seems more or less mesmerized by this turn of events, which strikes Dean as pretty funny. His laugh morphs into a choked groan, however, when Cas fucking _licks_ his nipple.

“Nngh,” Dean says.

Cas’s head snaps up, and he looks alarmed for about half a second before he relaxes and grins. He licks again, and this time, he rests a hand on Dean’s belly so he can feel the muscles twitch with the sensation.

“Cas,” Dean says, because while this is awesome and all, he really can’t just lie here anymore. He pulls Cas into a dirty, open-mouthed kiss and Cas’s fingers curl until his nails rake across Dean’s skin. And Cas fucking _nods_ , like neither of them need words to talk right now, and maybe that’s just as well. Action’s always been Dean’s forte; Sam’s the words.

Sam. Right. Maybe not think about his little brother right now.

Dean moves his hands down until they grasp his angel’s hips, and _lifts_. Cas huffs in surprise, but then he’s lying on top of Dean and they’re touching from stomach to knees and it’s pretty much perfect. They _fit_ , and when Cas wriggles, they both utter similar choked-off half-sounds.

“You okay, Cas?” Dean asks, and his voice is rough and just a little breathless. Cas looks almost scared, but not uncertain, and his eyes are clouded by pleasure when the wriggling turns into careful, clumsy thrusts.

Even with the two layers of underwear between the two of them, the heat of Cas is scorching against Dean’s skin, and he can’t help but let one hand rest on Cas’s ass. Feeling how the muscles shift slightly as Cas moves, the cotton material getting clammy under Dean’s sweaty palm. His other hand is fisted in Cas’s t-shirt, which is bunched up around his arms now, but Dean doesn’t touch the scars. He knows that this isn’t the time.

There’s no finesse over Cas’s movements. He hangs onto Dean’s shoulders, their breaths mingling as their heart rates and thrusts increase. His eyes are unfocused, mouth slack and shoulders tight, and he looks a little lost inside himself and all these sensations.

“Cas?” Dean gets out, untwisting his hand from Cas’s t-shirt to grab his neck. Ground him, if possible. Cas’s eyes clear and he blinks, before dislodging one of his hands. _Muc._

“Muc?” Dean says. He can feel heat pool low in his belly, and both their underwear are soaked with precome by now. “Mu- much?”

Cas nods and presses his forehead to Dean’s, his voice hitching. He sounds almost distressed, ragged breath hot against Dean’s lips and that sweet, slightly musky scent everywhere. There’s only Cas, all Dean can see, hear, feel, smell, _think_ , and he grabs Cas’s ass to press them together as much as they can be in this position. Cas’s breath does a noticeable hitch, and he’s trembling now, why is he trembling?

“Hey, hey,” Dean says and Cas pulls back, eyes huge and cerulean and _scared_ , and Dean can hear him whimper even if he knows it isn’t possible. “It’s okay, Cas,” Dean whispers, voice hitching with the force of their continued thrusts. “ ‘s okay, I’ve got you. I got you.”

Cas squeezes his eyes shut as his mouth falls open, his nails digging painfully into Dean’s skin, and he _stills_. In a sudden moment of inspiration, or maybe just illumination, Dean leans forward and presses their lips together. Cas shudders, completely quiet – not even breathing, Dean notices with distant alarm – and then there’s wet warmth spreading between them stomachs and Dean’s orgasm blindsides him completely.

Dean is _not_ quiet. He shouts into Cas’s mouth as he comes, and he’s pretty sure he startles the ex-angel by doing so. There’s a moment where everything’s perfect, Cas and Dean and CasandDean and there’s no need to think, just to _be_ – and when it passes, Dean’s on his back, panting and Cas has collapsed on top of him.

“You okay, Cas?” Dean murmurs, his voice not entirely operating with him right now. He’s too calm and content, even with ruined underwear that soon will turn sticky and gross and a guy on top of him that Dean _swore_ he wouldn’t take advantage of and now just did.

Cas nods; barely. Not enough. It’s the kind of nod that can easily be a lie, and even if Dean doesn’t think Cas has learned to lie yet, he’s not gonna take that chance. He props himself up on one elbow and tousles Cas’s hair. “Hey. Look at me.”

Cas doesn’t look up at him, just burrows closer, pressing his face against Dean’s neck and letting out a sharp breath.

Dean’s stomach turns uncomfortably. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He knew they shouldn’t have done this; it’s too early, it’s too soon for Cas. _Fuck._ “Hey, hey. What’s wrong?”

Cas shakes his head, but still won’t look at him. Dean takes his hand and squeezes it. “Tell me, Cas. Please.” His heart’s thumping even as his breathing slows down, the sheen of sweat on their bodies making everything damp and clammy.

 _Feel,_ Cas manages to sign, his hand shaking. _Lot._

“Yeah, it uh,” Dean gets out, “it can be a bit overwhelming.”

Cas nods again and stays where he is, but Dean can feel him calming down little by little. “Cas. Seriously. Are you okay?”

And fucking _finally_ Cas props himself up on one elbow so Dean can study his face. He doesn’t look freaked out, or – Dean doesn’t even know - permanently damaged. He just looks overwhelmed, and flushed, and a little uncertain. He tries for a smile.

“Fuck,” Dean says and pulls him close. “I’m so fucking sorry, Cas.”

Cas presses his face back into Dean’s neck, but shakes his head resolutely. “No, I mean it. Cas–” but then Cas’s hand collides with Dean’s mouth and covers it in a _shut up_ as effective as little else. So Dean swallows his apologies and his nausea, curls his arms around Cas’s smaller, trembling body, and waits. The self-loathing is a familiar emotion when it washes over him, and he resists the urge to shove Cas away and escape into the bathroom. The evidence of what just happened is slowly drying on his skin, turning itchy and flaky and disgusting, and Dean closes his eyes. Waits. Listens to Cas’s uneven breath.

He counts the seconds, and four hundred and thirty eight of them pass before Cas moves again. This time he slides off Dean and sits up, taking a long, deep breath before he gives Dean another smile. It’s a shaky one, but it looks genuine. Dean sits up too, but doesn’t say anything. Has no idea what the fuck he’s supposed to say.

Cas turns away from him and slips out of the bed, padding over to his own without looking at Dean. Dean can see that his white cotton boxers are stained, a large, damp patch covering the front, making it see-through. Dean looks away and gets out from the bed, and feels how the dried come between his thighs cling to his skin. He stumbles towards the bathroom, but a sharp thump makes him turn.

It’s Cas, who seems to have thumped his foot hard against the floor to get his attention. He takes up his notebook and taps on it. Then he signs _don’t go._

“No, I’m – I’m not, Cas,” Dean says meekly, even though that’s exactly what he was doing. “I’m… just gonna go get some paper towels.” He slinks into the bathroom and pulls out half a roll of toilet paper, before stepping out of his soiled briefs and cleaning himself up. He doesn’t look himself in the mirror, and he doesn’t look at the used paper before throwing it into the toilet and flushing it down. He pulls out more paper and brings it with him back into the room, getting into his own bed even if it’s still clammy and smells like (Cas) sex.

He throws the paper at Cas, who’s sitting on his bed, brows furrowed as he scribbles furiously in his notebook. Dean wonders if he’s cataloguing this whole thing. That would be… weird, but not surprising. He’s still wearing his own messy boxers, and Dean’s old Metallica t-shirt, but doesn’t seem to mind all that much. He doesn’t even glance in Dean’s direction when the roll of paper hits his left thigh.

Dean represses the urge to apologize another time – knows that Cas isn’t interested in hearing more bullshit. Whatever’s done is done, and Dean can’t take it back now. He’ll just have to live with the consequences. Breathing with his mouth and not his nose, Dean lies down and pulls the sheets all the way up to his eyes, trying his best not to inhale the scent of the two of them. He scrunches his eyes shut and tries to feign instant sleep.

A thump. Dean doesn’t turn. Another thump. Then bedsprings creaking just barely, before there’s a presence by his bed and a finger poking at the back of his head. And there’s really no way of ignoring that without looking like a complete idiot, so Dean opens his eyes. “What?”

Cas hands him the notebook, opened on a page filled with scribbles. When Dean doesn’t react, he pokes Dean with the book. “Wh- you want me to read it?”

Cas nods and goes back to his bed to get the paper towels. As Dean begins to read the scrawly letters, Cas strips down until he’s only wearing the t-shirt, and dabs carefully at the mess on his stomach and groin like he’s performing a very delicate experiment.

_Please don’t say you are sorry. Not unless you genuinely regret this. If you do, I will respect that._

This was not how I imagined the evening to end, and I’m certain you did not either. I could read it in your face, your body, your words. And I must admit, at times it was a… frightening experience. Not because it was dissatisfactory or because you were unkind, but because it strongly reminded me of something I have experienced in my previous life. The act of sexual intercourse is often referred to as divine in literature, the physicality of it compared with flying. And I must say that it is by no means an incorrect assumption.

There is a part of me missing, Dean. I have come to terms with the loss of my Grace, even if I long for it every minute of every day. I know I will never have that same, joyous feeling again, the knowledge of being whole and utterly, completely content. And yet, as I reached my climax, it felt as if at any given moment, I could stretch my wings and fly once again. For one glorious moment, I felt complete.

I know my subsequent reaction – or perhaps lack of it – must have frightened you, and I apologize deeply for that. I was not prepared for the overwhelming amount of sensation, both physical and emotional, that this act would cause. Please don’t think you acted wrongly or somehow betrayed my trust. I know you are prone to self-flagellation in situations like these. There was nothing wrong about this, and I do not regret it. I only want to thank you.

Thank you, for letting me feel closer to myself than I have been in months. Thank you for letting me feel close to you.

Dean closes the notebook carefully, almost reverently, and looks over at his angel. Cas sits on his bed, curled up so he’s not showing off his junk to the whole room. The paper towels are curled in his hand, and he’s staring at the wallpaper again. Giving Dean space, perhaps. Dean… appreciates that.

“So…” Cas looks over at him and tilts his head just barely. Dean glances at the notebook, his mouth curling into an awkward smile. “So you’re okay, then?”

One beat. Then Cas huffs a laugh and rolls his eyes, the tense set to his shoulders relaxing as he nods.

“Okay. Good. That’s… awesome.” And after a moment’s hesitation, Dean heads over to the other bed and hands Cas the book. He’s very aware that he’s naked, but it seems a bit ridiculous to be shy about that when he came all over Cas’s belly just five minutes ago. That memory has him looking away again, down at the white sheets on Cas’s bed.

Cas takes the notebook and places it on his bedside table, on top of the rest of his books. He crawls underneath the bedsheets and looks up at Dean, half expectant and half worried. Dean gets in beside him without another word – not like he really wants to sleep in the wet spot anyway.

Cas is warmer than he usually is, Dean thinks when Cas squirms close. He wraps his arms around his angel and Cas melts into his touch, like this is a normal night after Cas has woken from a nightmare. Like they’re not both naked apart from Cas’s t-shirt – stripped of all pretenses and defences, apart from that one thin layer of cotton to shield Cas from his own Hellish memories. Dean kisses Cas’s temple and tastes salt, and Cas’s hand moves to rest against Dean’s hip. He burrows his face into Dean’s neck like he usually does those bad nights, and it’s strangely familiar even with all the extra skin contact.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” Dean murmurs after a while, when he’s half-sure Cas is asleep. “And, y’know. Ditto.”

He can feel Cas smile against his neck, and holds him just a little closer.

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'All The Blood Is Red' is indeed a real book, by Leone Ross.


	18. If I Fail, I’ll Fall Apart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Where Dean is snuggly and Cas is content, and where Sam is so very, very tired._

Dean jolts awake early in the morning, remembering that he forgot to set his alarm last night. He’s about to roll out of the bed and try to get dressed, leave and get to his job in less than fifteen minutes, when he realizes two things.

One: Cas is half-lying on top of him, effectively pinning him to the mattress like a sleepy prison of really warm, soft skin.

Two: It’s Thursday. Which means he doesn’t work until four.

Well. That’s pretty awesome.

Cas squirms a little, lets out a soft huff against Dean’s clavicle, and goes slack again. He’s somehow managed to wriggle an arm underneath the small of Dean’s back, which must be stopping his blood circulation, so Dean tries to lift his hips enough to unpin it. He can feel Cas frowning against his neck, waking up, so he pulls out Cas’s hand quickly and entwines their fingers. It’s still so early the sun’s barely shining in between the thin cotton curtains, and he wants Cas to sleep in. So he shushes him, presses a kiss to his sweaty curls, and keeps his free hand on the nape of his ex-angel’s neck.

Cas falls quiet and doesn’t wake up. After a little while, Dean goes back to sleep; the sound of Cas’s slow, deep breathing a comfort in the heavy silence.

The next time he wakes, it’s to the sound his phone. He blinks his eyes open and shifts, and feels Cas wake on him. The ex-angel squirms, but doesn’t actually move away, so in the end, Dean just listens to the electronic ringing until whoever calling (probably Sam) gives up. Dean checks his watch. Ten to eleven. Pretty perfect. “G’morning, Cas.”

Cas squirms in reply and presses a lazy kiss to Dean’s Adam’s apple. He moves sluggishly, his body not quite awake even if his brain is, and mouths something against Dean’s skin that Dean doesn’t understand. He doesn’t ask. It’s… nice without words. Cas is a guy he can be quiet with. Even years before Cas lost his voice, it was nice to be quiet with him.

In the end they lie there for another half-hour, snoozing, sleepy fingertips tracing hot skin, breathing in unison. Dean knows that Cas is thinking about last night, because that’s what Dean is thinking about. He turns Cas’s words over and over in his head, allowing himself to give the memory of him and Cas rutting against each other a positive, almost romantic tinge. Or, well, not _romantic_. Because that’s not… how they work. But it’s something that’s right; something good. Cas is okay, because he’s too relaxed and too _happy_ against Dean to not be.

Dean and Cas had sex. It’s a baffling thought.

Cas squirms and eventually rolls off Dean, signing _morning_ at him and giving him a wide smile. His eyes are fond and just a little embarrassed – they’re still practically naked underneath the sheets, and when Cas stumbles out of bed, Dean gets a very good view of his ex-angel’s ass. Cas shuffles quickly into the bathroom to relieve himself, and Dean stretches out fully once he’s got the bed alone. He smells like Cas. It’s a pretty awesome feeling.

When Cas returns, he picks up Dean’s phone from the pocket of his leather jacket, and hands it to Dean before climbing back under the covers. “Leech,” Dean murmurs when Cas promptly attaches himself to his side and lays his head down on Dean’s chest. Cas pokes him sharply in the side in retaliation.

One unanswered call from Sam. Dean calls him up and lies back, one arm behind his head. “Morning, Sammy.”

“Two left,” Sam mumbles. He’s so tired he’s tripping over his own words. “Jus’ two left.”

“Sam, come home.”

“Nn,” Sam grunts. “Have two- morrow.”

“You have two more exams tomorrow, that what you’re trying to tell me?” Dean can feel Cas lifting his head barely, and knows the ex-angel’s listening in.

“Yeah,” Sam huffs.

“Okay, that’s tomorrow. Loan some books and meet up in front of the library in fifteen; I’m coming to get you.”

“Nnnooo,” Sam whines in a scratchy voice. “I w’s just calling to ask if you’re a’right.”

“Yeah, we are,” Dean says, and can feel Cas’s smile. He presses a quick kiss to Cas’s temple. “And I’m coming.”

“Nnnn,” Sam whines, but he can’t even say ‘no’ properly, and that’s a sign as good as Dean will ever need.

“Fifteen minutes, Sammy. I’ll drag you out on your ass myself.” Dean hangs up. Cas chuckles. “Fucking idiot will burn himself out.”

Cas shakes his head a little and signs _tough_.

“Yeah, I know he is. Wouldn’t kill him to get a decent night’s – or day’s – sleep, though.”

They get out of bed and get dressed, and Dean brushes his teeth while Cas finds his book again. Dean drives alone, with a wave and a grin from Cas in the motel room window, and when he stops outside the Stanford Univeristy Library gates, the sasquatch is waiting for him. Sam’s slouched over by a lamp post, looking half-asleep.

“Yo, Sammy,” Dean hollers out his window. “Get in.”

Sam actually startles, as if he was really sleeping, wild, red eyes darting around for a second before he spots Dean and visibly relaxes. Dean feels so bad for the kid, who slumps into the Impala’s seat with a low groan.

“You alive there?”

“Mmm,” Sam says and closes his eyes.

“Good to hear.”

Dean has to shake Sam awake when they’re back at the motel, and is promptly met by Sam’s bitchface number 23: Why Did You Wake Me Up In The Middle Of The Night Oh God You’re Such A Douche. “We’re here, princess,” Dean says. “Get in. I’ll grab your books.” He shoves Cas’s new phone further underneath the shotgun seat, having totally forgotten about it until this morning. He’s got a plan for it later, but first: Sam.

Sam stumbles into the room, Dean right behind him, and almost trips over Cas who’s sitting on the edge of Dean’s bed. _You okay?_ Cas signs, and Sam squints at him and goes “huh?”

“He wonders if you’re okay,” Dean says with a roll of his eyes. Cas looks all sad on Sam’s behalf now, like he understands that Sam must be totally out of it to not even understand fingerspelling.

“Mmm,” Sam says and tries to wrestle out of his jacket. He manages to after a short fight, shedding his shirt and pants with the same amount of grace as a mop, making his way over to the bed Dean and Cas have been sharing the whole night. Well. Better that than the bed he and Cas... yeah. Definitely better.

Dean picks up the strewn clothes, feeling like he’s twenty again and experiencing the first time Sam got drunk. Sasquatch behaves much the same way now; down to his boxers and t-shirt, crawling under the sheets with his eyes already closed. He nuzzles the pillow. “’f you guys had sex here, I’mma kill you,” he mumbles quietly and goes still. Dean and Cas share a look, and Cas’s ears go a little pink.

“Breakfast?” Dean asks, and Cas nods.

~*~


	19. The Wrong Damn Girl In the Wrong Damn Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Where Cas is the sneakiest angel in the garrison._

They’re in a nearby Starbucks. It’s not Dean’s favorite coffee shop, not by far, but he’s trying to make Cas like coffee and this place has a lot more variation than your run-of-the-mill coffee spot. “Hey, gimme something sweet and syrupy with caffeine,” Dean says to the clerk. “And a black coffee for me. Annnnd two baguettes – ham and cheese.”

“Okay, how’bout a caramel macchiato?” she says and gives him an impatient smile along with the two baguettes.

“Sure.” Dean pays and sits down by a wobbly table in the corner of the shop, where Cas is already waiting. He’s plucking at a loose string on his jacket, but looks up when Dean sits down and smiles. “Here you go,” he says and hands Cas one of the baguettes. Cas rips a small piece off it and stuffs it into his mouth with great consideration, like he’s never eaten a baguette before.

“So, uh,” Dean says and fumbles with his own baguette. “I got you a, a phone. Um, here.” He pulls the box out of his pocket and shoves it unceremoniously at Cas, before biting off a huge chunk of his baguette.

Cas puts down his food, eyes wide, and fiddles the box open. He pulls out the touchscreen phone and turns it around curiously. He doesn’t even turn it on at first – just looks at it. Smooths a thumb over the back, careful not to touch the camera lens.

“You don’t have to keep it if you don’t like it,” Dean blurts. “I just – ‘cause you’re good with your hands – I mean, like, with signing and stuff, not – I just thought you might like that touch pad stuff.”

Cas grins and ducks his head, turning on the phone. The screen lights up and a short jingle presses out of the tiny speakers. It annoys Dean already. But Cas seems mesmerized by it; pressing his fingertips to the screen and finding all the apps the phone has. He seems to catch on a lot quicker than Dean thought he would, which pleases him. He eats, and Cas eats while texting or something else random, and the coffee clerk comes over with their beverages.

Cas takes a sip of his caramel macchiato, and stares at it with a puzzled, but pleased, expression. Dean suspects his devious coffee plan might be working. “So,” Dean says after a while, and Cas looks up. He gives Dean an apologetic smile and puts the phone down. _Sorry,_ he signs.

“No no, it’s fine. I’m… glad you like it?” Somehow it comes out as a question, though Dean’s not sure why. But Cas is nodding fervently, eyes big and blue and happy, so it’s all good. Dean resists the urge to grin back, because he knows he’d look all goofy. “Also, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about some stuff.”

Cas frowns and takes a bite of his baguette. He tilts his head in question.

“Now, Sam will probably get into Stanford. ‘Cause face it, the Sasquatch’s a genius. And he deserves a gold medal after the way they’ve been ridin’ him for the past two weeks.” Cas nods seriously. “Anyway, he told me that he’d be movin’ in on campus. Now, we could stay in that motel – we’d have enough money, with me workin’, though I’d have to take on an extra job – but it’s not, y’know. The most _homey_ place ever.” His guts churn from just talking about it, and when realizastion starts to dawn in Cas’s eyes, Dean’s a second from telling him to just forget it. But he… he needs Cas to know this. He….

He needs Cas’s help with this one.

“What I’m trying to say is… we can stay in the motel if you wanna. But… but we could also get a place. Like, an apartment or –” he can’t say ‘house’. He just can’t. “ – somewhere. It’s… it’s up to you, really.”

Cas blinks at him and chews absently on his baguette. _We and Sam?_ he finally signs.

“Um, no. It would… sorta be the two of us.” He’s not blushing. He’s _not_ fucking blushing. “Only if you wanna, of course.”

Cas frowns, and looks deep in thought. He gestures between the two of them. _Friends?_

“Well, yeah?” Dean asks, surprised. “Of course we’re friends, Cas.”

But Cas shakes his head and gestures again. _Boyfriends?_

… Oh. “Uhhhhh,” Dean exhales.

Cas waits. Dean keeps on exhaling. Cas leans forward and very carefully pets Dean on the hand. Then he signs _friends_ and gives Dean his ‘it’s okay, I’m totally not hurt’ smile.

Dean groans and slams his head carefully into the table. “Fine,” he mutters against the metal. “We’re b- we’re bo- we’re _that_.”

One beat, and then Cas pets him on the head. “Oh, fuck you, Cas,” Dean mutters without heat. Cas huffs a laugh beside him. Cas stops petting and drags his hand through Dean’s hair instead. “Stop it,” Dean growls and sits back up, glancing around to make sure no one’s looking. Cas is grinning, though, and he looks so happy and ugh, Dean’s probably gonna grow a uterus one of these days, seriously.

“Um, so, anyway,” Dean says. “We should, I dunno, start looking for an apartment or something.”

Cas opens his mouth – and closes it again. He suddenly seems immensely interested in the remains of his bagel. Dean narrows his eyes. “Hey, what’s with the face?”

Cas waves him off.

“Oh no, don’t you try that on me,” Dean warns. “You ain’t the only one who’s allowed to go third-degree here. Spill.”

Cas bites his lip and Dean’s totally not following that movement with his eyes, noticing how his lower lip goes a little red and moist, and the ex-angel pulls out the notebook he takes with him everywhere. Even his handwriting is tentative. _I might have looked at some houses outside San Fransisco?_

Dean boggles. “You what?”

And now Cas looks terrified and writes as fast as he can. _I don’t want to presume anything I was merely curious and I wanted to see that place we went that Saturday when you were off and I had just gotten my identification papers I liked it._

“Whoa, okay, slow down there, Cas.” Dean reads through the sentence one more time. “That hippie place?” _Our first date?_ his mind helpfully supplies. Dean tells it firmly to shut the hell up.

Cas nods, still looking like a deer in the headlights. He fiddles with his notebook.

“So that’s… that’s around Grass Valley, right?”

Cas nods again. Dean keeps quiet for a while, but Cas doesn’t offer him anything else. “So… d’you find anything?”

Cas stares at his notebook for a while before scribbling. _The neighbourhood is pretty._

Dean snorts. “ ‘Pretty’, Cas?”

A small smile. _Lots of plants and flowers. It’s so green there. It’s beautiful._

“You… you like plants, huh?” Dean’s not really surprised.

Cas’s smile widens. _I love all living things._

Dean can’t help but grin back. “Thought you might. So… is this neighborhood in Grass Valley?”

 _Near,_ Cas signs.

Sneaky ex-angel. Now that he thinks about it, he’s a lot less surprised than he thought he’d be. He could rummage through his grapefruit trying to figure out why that is, but he really, really doesn’t want to. So instead, Dean give out a long-suffering sigh. “Well, I guess you had to use your days for _something_.”

Cas blows a raspberry at him.

Dean chuckles, and the tumbling in his stomach quiets down a bit. Enough for him to think. “Okay. Show me when we get home?”

Cas beams. Dean very nearly kisses him right there. But he doesn’t, of course.

~*~


	20. All the Same, One Brand, One Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Where they look at houses and Cas does laundry._

They get back to the motel a couple of hours later, Sam still sleeping soundly.The other bed has been made up, and they settle on it with Sam’s laptop, backs against the headboard. Cas’s fingers fly over the keyboard as he Googles himself to the site he was checking out earlier – like a true pro, Dean thinks with some fondness.

Cas taps on the screen and Dean leans closer. He’s pressed against Cas’s side, the laptop on Cas’s lap, and the ex-angel turns his head and nuzzles behind Dean’s ear. Dean thinks of asking what the hell Cas is doing, but… well. Sam’s still asleep. No need to wake him. So Dean curls his hand around Cas’s wrist instead. “That the place?” Dean whispers, and Cas nods. He leans his head on Dean’s shoulder, a somehow grounding touch as Dean flicks through the ads.

There are three apartments for sale in the same, small neighborhood. Or, well, they’re houses. Tiny houses.

… houses.

But Cas does have a point. They are kind of cute. Three similar, peach-colored houses, complete with a tiny garden in the front. _And_ the back, Dean notices. White window sills, white picket fence, so much white. “They’re only one floor?” Dean murmurs.

Cas nods. _Small_ , he says and taps at the information on the side.

“One bedroom,” Dean says quietly and feels his throat constrict.

 _Big sofa_ , Cas signs quickly and smiles. He entwines his fingers with Dean’s and squeezes. He keeps his gaze on Dean’s, though, like he’s making sure Dean’s not freaking out. Dean’s torn between annoyed and endeared, and wonders when the fuck Cas became the sane and collected one of them. Or if it’s always been that way, and Dean’s just now noticed.

“So… this is what you want?” he asks.

_If you want._

Dean huffs a laugh. “Not what I asked, Cas.”

Cas frowns and looks at the on-screen house. Sam turns to his side over at his bed, and snortle-snores. He’s drooling onto his pillow, and they watch him for a minute before going back to the ad. Cas nods, movement slow and deliberate.

Dean takes a deep breath. Right. “Wanna take a trip on Saturday and check it out?”

Cas doesn’t sign anything, but the look he gives Dean can pretty much be described as _Really??!_

Dean snorts and wills his stomach to quit churning. It probably wouldn’t be awesome of him to puke right now. “Well, I gotta go to work,” he whispers, and Cas nods. He doesn’t move. None of them do. They just sort of look at each other, the advert for the house in the background, and is this a moment again? Dean feels like there are moments all over the place here. “Okay, fine,” he mutters, mostly to himself, and kisses Cas because let’s face it, they were heading there anyway. Cas is taken by surprise and his eyes widen almost comically, before they soften and he kisses back. Sam’s fast asleep on the other bed, it’s Thursday, and Dean only have two more shifts on the job from Hell (not at all literal, obviously) before the weekend, and this – this is going okay, right? Yeah. It’s all good.

“I’ll see you after ten,” Dean murmurs when he pulls back. “Tell Sammy I said hi.”

Cas grins and bookmarks the house page.

Dean gets a text when he’s driving to Walmart. _Did you know that the full name of Los Angeles is El Pueblo de Nuestra Senora la Reina de los Angeles de Porciuncula?_

Dean sighs. Of course Cas is the kind of person who’ll abuse his telephone plan – and the fact that he has only two contacts on his list. _Nope. Didn’t know that._ Dean grins and goes into the store.

~*~

It’s half past ten, and Dean’s exhausted. Even if today was just a short shift, there had been so much stress he wanted to put the Colt to his temple just to fucking _end_ it. He vows to himself, right the fuck now, that he’s gonna find a better job if they decide to move to Grass Valley. He can’t do this on a regular basis, he just can’t. He’d rather hustle pool.

It freaks him out how he’s already mentally preparing himself to move. This shouldn’t be so… _easy_. It’s too easy, all the pieces falling into place around him without much effort. He keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop and it never does, and that leaves him paranoid and edgy. He almost wishes something awful would happen, just so he wouldn’t have to _wait_ anymore. But then he realizes that whatever bad it would be, it would happen to Cas. Because that’s the Winchester luck. And Dean won’t let anything happen to Cas – not anything that hasn’t happened already.

Sam’s not there when Dean locks himself into their room, leaving the lights off. Sam’s bed is empty with new, clean sheets, and Cas is asleep and curled up in his (and Dean’s) bed, clutching his sheets tightly like he’s afraid they’ll disappear on him. The room smells clean – cleaner than it’s done for the whole two weeks they’ve lived here. Dean realizes why when he shrugs off his jacket and moves to hang it on the chair by their wobbly table. There are two piles of fresh laundry sitting there, neatly folded with almost surgigal precision. Dean recognizes his own clothes in one pile – the others have bigger clothes. Sam’s. T-shirts, shirts, sweaters, socks. Sam would never bother to do this, so that leaves…

Dean glances over at the sleeping figure in the room, before he hangs his jacket over the chair’s back and walks over to the bed. Cas smells like fresh laundry. Dean smiles. His fucking angel.

He strips down quickly, noticing that his other Walmart t-shirt is laid out for him on top of his duffel bag, clean and neat. Courtesy of Cas that too, no doubt. Dean’s ridiculously pleased at the fact that Cas must have learned to do laundry all by himself – Dean certainly hasn’t taught him, he was fine with doing Cas’s laundry himself. And he doubts Sam’s had the coherence to teach the ex-angel the art of laundering since Dean left for work.

He hesitates by the bed, knowing that Sam won’t be back until tomorrow. Dean could take his brother’s bed; he might wake Cas up if he slips into this bed now. On the other hand, Dean doesn’t want Cas to think he’s ungrateful. He’s _always_ grateful to get out of laundry duty. And if he’s honest, he kind of thinks that Cas would rather be woken up than sleep alone for the whole night. Cas is of the cuddling kind.

So he lifts the sheets and lies down next to Cas, who wakes up. Of course. There’s that one moment where he doesn’t seem to know where he’s at – Dean’s getting used to that – before he blinks a few more times and smiles. He squirms.

“Hey there,” Dean whispers. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

Cas shakes his head and curls around Dean, who turns to his side. Cas fits against him like they’re two pieces of a puzzle, and Dean smells the ex-angel’s neck. Coconut shampoo. His new favorite. “Noticed the laundry pile,” he murmurs.

Cas doesn’t sign anything, but Dean knows he’s listening intently. His t-shirt is soft and warm against Dean’s chest, his fingers tracing the scar on Dean’s shoulder.

“You learn that by yourself, or did you cheat off the Internet?” Dean asks, smiling into Cas’s curls.

Cas huffs a laugh and signs _cheated_ at him. Dean chuckles.

“You didn’t have to do that, you know.”

 _Wanted to,_ Cas signs, and the sluggish way his hand moves tells Dean that he’s starting to fall asleep again.

“Thanks,” Dean murmurs. “It’s awesome. And, y’know. Sam might actually cry when he sees it, the girl. He’s all for gestures.”

Cas laughs soundlessly against him and squirms. Happiness is practically radiating from him, which isn’t so weird, Dean reckons. Cas is a kind of person who likes making other people happy. Dean gets that. He does.

Plus, he _really_ likes the thought of not having to do laundry for another two weeks.

 _Work tomorrow?_ Cas signs sluggishly. His breath is deep and calm against Dean’s neck.

“Yeah,” Dean sighs. “Ten till four.” Cas echoes his sigh, and Dean has to smile. “How so?”

But Cas just burrows closer against him and doesn’t answer. Which might just be an answer in itself, Dean realizes fondly. He presses a kiss to Cas’s temple. “G’night, Cas.”

Cas squeezes his shoulder in reply. They drift off in a matter of minutes.

~*~


	21. The Day I Cut The Deal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Where Dean and Cas meet their house._

They’ve called the realtor and made an appointment, and early Saturday morning, Cas and Dean take the Impala and drive up to Palo Alto. Cas sleeps most of the way, when he’s not busy pressing his face against the side windows in an effort to soak in even more than the first time they came through here. Sam’s done with all his tests, for now at least, and is currently sleeping off the stress in their motel room. Dean didn’t tell him about the hou– the appointment yet. No reason to for now; it’s not a done deal yet. At all. They’re just gonna take a look at it.

No biggie.

Grass Valley is tiny, and hard to get lost in. Most of the neighborhoods here look like the one in the online brochure: peach-colored, tiny, domesticated. ‘Cute’. But every now and then, there’s a house that doesn’t seem to fit in. Bright blue. Lime green. Ceris and scarlet. It looks wholly out of place, and yet not. In a more stuck-up community, Dean reckons it would’ve been frowned upon, but here the houses all seem to match in their odd, clashing ways. Some houses have neat, pretty gardens. Some of them have small jungles, where poison ivy and other bright plants are slowly working their way over the fence and out towards the sidewalks. There are families and children playing outside some houses, and others where the apartments barely seem to be inhabitated at all.

It makes Dean… relax, almost. Like they’re not expecting that much of him here. And Cas, who understandably loves people in pretty much all forms, gets brighter and brighter eyes the closer they get to ‘their’ neighborhood.

Cas would fit in here. Dean’s not sure if he himself would – but he might. He just might.

“Misters Winchester?” the realtor greets them when they park outside the first of the houses, offering Dean a firm handshake before greeting Cas. “I’m Margaret Eastwood. It’s lovely to meet you.”

“Thanks,” Dean says a little stiffly, more out of nervousness than anything else, and Cas inclines his head. Dean pushes his hands into his pockets and gazes at the house.

“Should we get started right away?” She’s small, almost half a head shorter than Cas, with dark hair set up in a complicated ponytail. She’s wearing a navy-blue suit jacket and skirt, looking pretty professional in the hot Californian weather. Her smile is automatic, but not unkind. She turns without another word and walks through the gate, holding it open for the two of them to step through.

It’s a tedious process, looking through the entire house and its surroundings. Or at least, Dean thinks so. Cas seems to soak up every boring detail about the house with almost sparkling enthusiasm, and though he never signs a word, he occasionally points at things he wants explained further. Margaret seems to catch on pretty early that Cas isn’t the talkative type (and neither is Dean, to be honest), and answers all Cas’s point-questions as thoroughly as she can. They’re practically bonding over the house, Dean muses as he keeps a step or two behind them.

“I live in a house much like this, you know,” Margaret tells Cas when they’ve reached the living room. “It may seem small, but if you’re only two or three people, it’s perfect. With the garden and the big windows, you have all the space you’ll need. Of course, there’s only one bedroom, but the living room is big enough to keep a foldable bed – or two, if that’s needed.”

 _You live here?_ Cas signs, the first thing he’s said since they came. Dean conveys his question.

“No, we live in a valley about half an hour from here,” Margaret smiles. “But it’s very similar. The neighborhood’s fantastic – gives you a chance for privacy, if that is what you’re looking for, of course. But it’s very safe here and people are very friendly. I take it you’re from outside Cali?”

“Something like that,” Dean says and can’t help but smile a little.

“You shouldn’t have any problem getting settled here at all,” she assures them, saving a special, dazzling smile for Cas. “Everything you need is within a fifteen-minute walk radius; shops, restaurants, school, etcetera. There are lots of different kinds of people living here, and it’s a very open community.” She glances between the two of them, but her smile doesn’t grow strained or fake. She just smiles at Cas, who grins back, and Dean wonders when it became so fucking obvious that the two of them are maybe-sorta-dating.

They end the tour in the garden, Margaret blabbering about all kinds of roots and plants that grow naturally (and mostly out of control) out there. Dean looks around, half-interested, but Cas nods and looks at every single plant.

“And here – this is just for this house, somewhat of a secret, if I might say so myself,” Margaret says and lowers her voice to a stage-whisper. She takes Castiel’s hand and leads him a bit further up in the garden, back towards the house, to a small tree placed right outside one of the windows. The bedroom window, Dean thinks. “This is a pear tree. It was planted by the previous owners, and it’s six years old. It does give pears in the summer and fall, which I hear taste absolutely delicious because of the climate.”

Cas walks up to the crooked, dark tree, and places a hand against it’s trunk. His eyes flutters shut, and he takes a deep breath through his nose. He looks so at peace here, Dean sees, like he fits naturally in with the environment around him. Or – no, it’s more than that. It’s almost like the garden, the house, _welcomes_ Cas here. He looks at ease and _right_ in a way that he hasn’t done, well, ever. Not even when he was an angel.

Cas, Dean realizes with a twinge of his heart, is _home_.

“Well,” Margaret says and looks like she’s sold the house already, “if you have any questions, just ask.”

Cas opens his eyes and looks at Dean. He smiles. And Dean, well… he can’t help but smile back.

“So the economy plan,” Dean says and rubs his face. “What’s that like?”

Cas sits down on the grass and leans against the pear tree, his smile brighter than the California sun.

~*~

  
~ _2 weeks later_ ~

“Dean? Cas?” Sam stands in the doorway of their new house (their house, his and Cas’s fucking _house_ ) with his hands in his pockets, back hunched in that about-to-squirm kind of way, and a secret smile on his face. He’s faking, Dean sees. Exactly what he’s faking, though, he can’t be sure of.

“Yeah?” He puts down the cardboard box, and Cas walks in from the living room to tilt his head at the younger Winchester. When Sam does nothing but stare at the dusty floor, looking like he’s about to explode, Dean throws a paint brush at him. “Spill, bitch.”

Sam doesn’t even scowl at him, just looks up at them both through those ridiculous bangs as a huge grin splits his face. “I got in.”

One beat. Then Cas _squawks_ – the closest thing to a shriek he can come, Dean suspects, and barrels straight into Sam for a hug. _KNEW IT_ , he signs before enveloping the giant as much as he can, and Sam’s eyes are shiny, the fucking girl.

“Great job, Sammy,” Dean says, and his own grin hurts his face a little too, he can’t lie about that. “Fucking knew they’d take you.” When Cas doesn’t seem to be moving any time soon, he hugs Sam through him. If Cas ends up sandwiched and semi-squashed between the two Winchesters, that’s his problem. (Dean makes sure he can breathe, though.)

“I got a full scholarship,” Sam sniffs, and his voice is all mushy, and Cas hugs even tighter, his own eyes shiny as hell. Dean rolls his eyes and thinks he might just puke with pride.

His fucking kid, ladies and gentlemen.

~*~


End file.
